


What About Gold?

by skerb



Series: Postcards From Waterfall [9]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blackouts, Body Horror, Character Bleed, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Trauma, Fear of Discovery, Flashbacks, Hospitalization, Injury Recovery, Judge Sans (Undertale), M/M, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Papyrus Tries His Best (Undertale), Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Outage, Sparring, Video Game Mechanics, Worried Papyrus (Undertale), sansby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: After suffering through a traumatic nightmare/flashback, Sans and Papyrus talk things out and Sans goes over the notches cut into Papyrus' hands after his past nightmare. Despite feelings of deep regret and guilt, Sans tries to be a better brother.That is, until something in Sans' psyche tests his limits, and digs at an old wound to boot.(CH 75-??? - JURIES & JUSTICIARS)
Relationships: Grillby/Sans (Undertale), Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Series: Postcards From Waterfall [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089182
Comments: 19
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **content warning(s):** body horror/deadly injuries, nightmare-induced panic attack

For an instant, there was nothing but bright light.

Bright light and a searing pain that went up in smoke, choking out Sans’ magic, scalding in its intensity. He lunged down, the platform he was on swinging dangerously as he clung to the rail with his left hand, adrenaline pumping throughout his body.

The energy flared up when something hit the CORE’s bright white mantle, sprays of magic and kinetic energy surging up to encase his out-reached arm. The entire space lit up, blinding and spilling onto his face. He turned and ducked his head under his left arm, the sticky, sickly pain spreading as it absorbed into his leys, swallowing everything and burning any trace of magic it could find. He gagged at the smell, the foul permeating stench of ozone, sulfur and acid.

His HP took a hit when the scaffolding shuddered and groaned, swinging closer to the lava. It wasn’t enough to seriously harm him, but it was sudden and knocked him off balance. Sans could hear the lake’s loud bubbling, so close to his head that fear stuck him like a spear that it was going to spill inside of him.

_This was it-_

_He was blind._

Sans thrashed as he was hauled up, every point in his body scorched from the energy of the CORE. He writhed as those that had pulled him up kept him down, the acrid smell of magic decaying thick in the air. Sans thrashed again, his entire body in pain, still reeling downwards as his HP steadily ticked down.

Someone held onto him, a phone call was made-

“SANS!!”

Suddenly, Sans realised that he was trembling, his entire body tight and trying to escape. The air wasn’t filled with chaotic energy like it’d been in the CORE, instead it was cool and as crisp as winter. Sans shuddered when he recognised the arms around him and clung tightly to them, his breaths stuttering and panicked.

“THERE YOU ARE. YOU’RE ALRIGHT,” Papyrus soothed, and every word washed over Sans like cool water. He swallowed a few harsh breaths, blindly grabbing at his brother’s pyjamas to ensure that he’d stay close.

“i’m blind,” Sans gasped out, his voice threadbare and shaking. “i’m blind. i can’t see, papy, i can’t see-”

“OPEN YOUR EYES AND YOU’LL SEE,” Papyrus coaxed him, running a soothing hand in circles along Sans’ back. “NO BRIGHT LIGHTS. NO DARKNESS. I HAVE THE LIGHT ON BUT IT’S NICE. ARE YOU OK?”

Sans shuddered again, a pathetic noise escaping him when his mouth felt too dry from breathing too quickly. His eye lights were still out, still trapped between the world and where nightmares lay.

“i fell-” he wavered, his grip digging in. “i fell. i fell, i fell, i _fell, i fe-”_

Papyrus gently hushed him and pulled Sans’ body against him, becoming an anchor to take hold of in the sea of fright and trauma. Sans wheezed as his rib cage creaked and he knew that he couldn’t feel his arm, nor his leg, nor-

“YOU’RE ALRIGHT, SANS. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. YOU’RE SAFE NOW, AND YOU’VE BEEN SAFE FOR A LONG TIME,” Papyrus explained, his voice piercing above Sans’ jittered breaths. From his repetitions, his brother could figure out which nightmare had decided to plague Sans that night. “YOU’RE HOLDING ONTO ME VERY TIGHTLY - WITH BOTH ARMS!! BOTH OF YOUR LEGS ARE STRONG AND HOLDING YOU UP!! IT WAS JUST A NIGHTMARE. A VERY INCONSIDERATE NIGHTMARE THAT YOUR OVERWORKED MIND HAS SUBJECTED YOU TO!!”

Sans attempted to calm down, his breaths catching on every inhale. He squeezed his brother, so tightly that Papyrus’ ribs dug into his own. Papyrus waited for his terror to subside, a patient presence that reassured him that everything truly was ok. Sans drank in deeper breaths, suddenly more than aware of the tears on his cheeks.

Ashamed, Sans pushed his hands between them and wiped over his wet eye sockets, shivering the entire time. With him now wrestled out of the space between nightmares and wakefulness, Papyrus draped a blanket over Sans, settling his hand on the middle of Sans’ back to sooth him.

Subconsciously, Sans pulled his left arm around him to hold onto his right arm. His eye sockets remained blanked as he stroked his dead arm, curling his fingers at the wrist.

“TELL YOU WHAT,” Papyrus started, something to fix onto in the silence. “WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT YOUR WEEK! GET IT ALL OUT IN THE OPEN. A NICE DISTRACTION!”

Sans inhaled slowly as though preparing himself to speak, but all that left him was a shuddering breath. Papyrus’ expression wavered, but he continued to stroke Sans’ back.

“ALRIGHT… I CAN ALWAYS START FIRST. SOME-”

“me and alphys made a dimensional box from her mobile prototype,” Sans mumbled, his voice still small and scarce. “i wanted it to be a surprise but all i ended up doing was worrying him.”

Papyrus sat next to Sans on the bed, hanging his head to see what he could of Sans’ expression and folding his hand over his knee.

As though the fright of the nightmare continued to plague him, Sans’ soul gave a pathetic squeeze. “he liked it in the end,” he conceded quietly, more emotion tightening in his chest than what he wanted to admit. “i just wish i could’ve started over. god knows i try his patience.”

“IT’S STILL A VERY NEW RELATIONSHIP,” Papyrus agreed. “THOUGH I BELIEVE IT’S DUE TO THE FACT THAT THE ONLY TIME HE’S SEEN YOU POST-BOX-MAKING IS WHEN… WELL.” The grimace would’ve spoken his meaning for him, had Sans the energy to look at him. “ARE YOU TWO OK NOW?”

“yeah,” Sans croaked, his voice breaking. “man, i wanna tell `im the truth,” he added after a long stretch of silence. His body subtly moved as Papyrus stroked his back, and though he felt comforted for it, he also felt smaller than he was. “you know? here’s how i used to be. here’s how i am now. i wasn’t always this way.”

Papyrus breathed out an exasperated sigh. “REALLY, SANS. I DON’T THINK HE’S GOING TO FIXATE ON THAT QUITE AS MUCH AS YOU DO.” His back-rubbing kicked up a notch and Sans glanced to him, the barest points of lights in his eyes.

“what if he does and he pretends?” Sans asked quietly. “what if he hides it?”

Papyrus rolled his eyes with the patience of a saint and thudded Sans on the back. Sans coughed but laughed anyway, the jolt to his spine grounding.

“I DOUBT VERY MUCH THAT HE’S ANYTHING REMOTELY LIKE YOU. YOU EXPECT THE WORST IN PEOPLE.”

“i have a good judge of people. it’s almost like i know what i’m talking about.”

“YOU’RE A FOOL FOR THINKING SO BUT I’LL LET THAT SLIDE!” Papyrus hissed. “WHAT I MEAN IS THAT MISTER GRILLBY HAS ENDURED YEARS OF YOUR RAMBLING AND SECRECY AND YET HE STILL CARES DEEPLY FOR YOU!! IF ANYTHING, _HE’S_ THE GOOD JUDGE OF CHARACTER.”

Sans couldn’t help but flinch. “endured.”

Grimacing like he’d just eaten a mouthful of eggshells, Papyrus waved at him dismissively, ignoring the intense look that passed over Sans’ face when he saw his ungloved hand. “YOU DO _NOT_ GET TO FIXATE ON THE WORDS I SAY OUT OF CONTEXT-”

Sans allowed the blanket to slip from one of his shoulders and he gripped Papyrus’ hand. His brother stopped mid-tirade and watched as Sans turned over his hand in his, tracing small nicks and scars like Papyrus had been catching swords instead of snowballs.

It came back to Sans in a rush of colour, his wounds tearing open when he recalled the sickening recollection of igniting pylons in Hotland. He remembered waking up in a frenzy, his magic circling around him in a tight torrent so fast that it’d cut Papyrus’ hands. It’d been only a couple of months, but he should’ve noticed it sooner.

But how could he notice anything when Papyrus kept his hands covered at all times? At a loss, Sans allowed Papyrus to pull his hands away, wringing them as though they ached.

“endured. like you endure this, every day,” Sans muttered, resigned. “shit, i’m so sorry.”

“YOU KNOW I DON’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. DON’T TWIST MY WORDS,” Papyrus huffed indignantly.

Sans just slowly nodded. Somehow that just made it seem worse. Things were still tense between them; he could sense it, even when Papyrus came to his aid whenever he was having a nightmare or when he was feeling low.

He blamed that rotten flower.

Tensing, Sans sighed, the sound sharp. “sorry,” he repeated quietly. “trying to be better at this.”

“DO YOU FEEL BETTER?”

“not really.”

What little tentative happiness and ease he’d garnered from his bath and rest had become quickly undone by the nightmare. Sans slouched, staring at his legs hanging over the edge, then he rested his hand over his right knee cap. It had started to throb. Or maybe it hadn’t. In reality, his entire body was protesting with fatigue. It just was easier to fixate on the places that hurt.

“THEN I SUGGEST THAT YOU GET SOME REST. YOU SAY YOU WENT TO HOTLAND SOLELY TO MAKE THE BOX?” Papyrus tried again, giving Sans’ right arm a gentle squeeze to draw his attention. When Sans nodded mutely, Papyrus sent him a grin. “EVERYONE DESERVES SOME DOWNTIME. THAT’S-” Quickly, he counted on his fingers and Sans couldn’t help but grin wryly when Papyrus had to let go of him to count on the other hand. “-I’D SAY ALMOST EXACTLY SEVEN DAYS WORKING FULLTIME!”

“wait. how’d you know i got back early?” Sans asked, his voice sounding somewhat raw now.

Papyrus winked and his cheekbones coloured slightly. “OH, COME NOW. I WALK PAST THAT GREASE-HOLE EVERY DAY ENOUGH TO KNOW ITS SCHEDULE. THERE’S ONLY ONE REASON WHY MISTER GRILLBY WOULD CLOSE EARLY!”

Sans felt his face colour, scanning his memory for any openings if he’d seen his brother before going into Grillby’s the other day. He had to mentally remind himself that he’d entered through the fire exit, and the start of their heated activities had begun in the back kitchen - which definitely couldn’t be seen from the front window.

Regardless, Sans’ mood turned from morose to embarrassed, his magic suffusing his face.

“oh. uh, yeah. it’s not like i didn’t wanna see you first, just-” Sans floundered, avoiding Papyrus’ direct look.

“I DON’T BLAME YOU!”

God. Sans’ face was burning with shame.

“SHOULD I EVER BE INCLINED TO HAVE A ROMANTICAL PARTNER, I’D ALSO WANT TO HAVE DINNER COOKED BY THEM EVERY NIGHT!!”

Sans’ laugh gusted out of him, happy for the small miracles and mercies that Papyrus bestowed upon him. And, just like before they had fought, Papyrus was doing his best to distract him. And doing a good job, too.

“r-right.” Sans raised his hand a little further up his right arm, giving his elbow a tentative squeeze. Something like recognition passed briefly over his face. “except i got there late. at regular closing time.”

Papyrus didn’t appear to have an answer for that observance. It confirmed Sans’ suspicions that Papyrus was hovering again, like he did when he was worried about him. Or maybe it was simply because he was lonely. With another brief stab of guilt, Sans shrugged his shoulders.

“don’t worry about me. he treats me well.” As though that was more than enough information, Sans slumped where he sat, his fatigue bearing down on him. “thanks for comforting me, pap.” There was a weariness in his tone that spoke volumes as to how truly tired he was. Papyrus was about to protest, but Sans cut him off and moved to pull his blanket around him, then laid back down. “night.”

Sans wasn’t sure if the gentle pat to his shoulder was necessary or not, but his soul gave a pained squeeze anyway. Thankfully, his mind was quiet after his brother had left. Sans found himself staring at the light from down the hall from the crack in the door and listened to the sounds of the television, just loud enough for him to know it was on.

After what felt like a long while, he dragged himself out of bed with his pillow and went downstairs. It’d felt no more than a couple hours, but Papyrus was asleep on the couch with the tv blaring infomercials.

Without bothering to turn it off, Sans approached his brother and crept onto the couch next to him. Papyrus must’ve been tired enough to be knocked out, as he didn’t budge when Sans pulled the patchwork quilt from the back of the couch and packed the pillow behind his brother’s head.

Once satisfied, Sans curled up next to Papyrus, holding his brother’s arm close to him so he could trace over the thin notches where he’d cut into his hands. He’d grown angry with himself over them, so Sans did what he could in the healing department. His magic took on a pasteline colour as he drew from his reserves, healing from his magic instead of his stamina.

It took fewer false starts than when he’d attempted to heal Grillby’s arm after their first date. It was easier to manage, though the exhaustion wasn’t helping with his focus. Sans kept getting distracted by the way his magic filled in the pits and grooves made by his fright, glowing a warm and minty blue.

Well, it was supposed to be more of a lime colour like Grillby’s healing, but he couldn’t exactly complain. It wouldn’t erase the fact that it had happened in the first place, but at least the gesture would hopefully convey that he cared for Papyrus and his well being. And he truly did.

It took Sans a little longer to drift off than it normally did. After another hour, the infomercials cut out to the rise of static, just on the edge of awareness as Sans slipped into sleep.

When he next woke, Papyrus had somehow wormed his way out from between the arm of the couch and his back, and Sans’ right arm twinged with a dull achy throb. His brother didn’t appear to have gone far; Sans could hear the early morning noises from the kitchen along with the bubble and scent of oatmeal.

He dragged himself away from the couch, hopelessly rumpled and clearly not running on enough sleep. His arm still twinged, which was worrying, but Sans chalked it up to the corruption Alphys had pointed out earlier that week. It’d take time to filter through his body. A mild inconvenience, but nothing to worry about. Maybe, he thought, he should’ve got an estimate as to when it would be ok again, just to be sure.

Papyrus noticed him straight away, and although Sans could see the surprise pass over his face, his brother greeted him with a big grin all the same. Sans couldn’t help but share it, less enthusiastically, but he pulled up to the kitchen table and rested his elbows on it.

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO, YOU KNOW,” Papyrus started, though there was something heartbreakingly fond in his tone. “THEY WOULD HAVE HEALED BY THEMSELVES.”

“i’m getting the weirdest case of déjà vu,” Sans mumbled into his arms with a curt sigh. “they would’ve scarred.”

“UNDYNE HAS A GREAT DEAL MANY SCARS AND SHE REFUSES TO HAVE THEM HEALED!”

“yeah, ok. but chances are she didn’t get them during a panic attack,” Sans retorted softly.

A brief hesitation lingered between them and for a moment Papyrus didn’t appear to understand what Sans meant. When Sans watched him, his brother looked somewhat lost. As if, for once, Papyrus didn’t know how or if he should turn the conversation around. Sans was caught off guard as a result.

“sorry.”

A little belatedly, it dawned on Sans that it had been a selfish move to erase the marks left behind by his own panic without addressing his brother’s concerns. His soul twisted with guilt, but Sans pushed at it, not wanting to fixate on himself. He wanted to console his brother.

Papyrus shook his head and turned back to the stove. The oatmeal smelled sweet, thick, earthy and steamy. It was a comforting smell.

“i’m sorry for a lot of things, but i’m… going to get better,” Sans offered carefully. Then instead of waiting for Papyrus to set a cup of coffee next to his head, he got up to approach the coffee machine and pulled a clean mug from the overhead cupboard. “little things but, uh. bigger things, too. i haven’t been fair to you. at all. i want that to change.”

Papyrus regarded him as though he’d just started talking about raising the dead from their dust and blinked at him. “WHO ARE YOU?”

Sans rubbed at his face, frustrated. “sans. sans the skeleton. running on way too much caffeine and not enough honesty,” he joked wryly. “i’m being truthful. a lot of stuff has been bothering me, keeping me up at night. about me. about the boy… about you.” There was a slight crinkle by Sans’ eye socket. “mainly you.”

Papyrus stirred the oatmeal a little more, the hiss of quickly evaporating water signalling that it was about to burn. Helpfully, he turned it down to mid-way, but Sans just turned off the burner altogether, then leaned against the side counter with his mug in hand.

“but i’ve talked to him. `bout how i’m not used to socialising between different people on the daily. you know me. i get short-tempered. but at the same time i wanna spend time with you.”

Papyrus folded his arms over his chest, brandishing the wooden spoon with one hand as he considered what Sans was saying. “SO YOU WOULDN’T MIND SPARRING?”

Sans’ grin was easy as Papyrus put two and two together. He switched his coffee to his other hand and squeezed his right arm again, trying to quell the ache.

“yeah. maybe in a couple days, though? as comfy as you are, i didn’t get much sleep last night. but yeah, i’ll show you what you’d asked before. no secrets, but uh… i’ve only done it a handful of times. so if i pass out, try not to freak, ok?”

Aghast, Papyrus pulled from the suspicious movement rather abruptly to hound him. “WE ARE _NOT_ DOING THIS IF YOU’RE GOING TO PASS OUT!!”

“you gotta relax. i’m probably not going to pass out. i’ve been good for awhile. only today i feel like crap.”

“THE DISTINCT LACK OF ABRUPT UNCONSCIOUSNESS SHOULD BE SECLUDED TO NIGHT-TIME HOURS AND HORIZONTAL SURFACES ONLY!!” Papyrus boomed, reaching into the cupboard for bowls to ladle breakfast into. “NOT MID-FIGHT WHERE SOMEONE COULD TAKE A CHEAP SHOT.”

“the only person that’d take a cheap shot would be me, and you know it,” Sans admitted slyly, then took a gulp of coffee. Somehow it didn’t seem warm enough. Shrugging to himself, Sans switched the mug to his dominant hand. “i like to take the easy route.”

“YES, YES, I KNOW FULL WELL YOU LOVE TO CHEAT. THOUGH, IF WE SPAR AGAIN I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE IT EASY. ALSO, IT’LL BE NOWHERE NEAR TOWN AND CERTAINLY NOWHERE NEAR WHERE WE’D INCUR PROPERTY DAMAGE. THE DAMAGE LAST TIME WAS FAR TOO COSTLY,” Papyrus said it as though the roof repairs weren’t the only thing at risk. Sans was all too aware of the silent fear his brother held onto. “ALSO, YOU’LL HAVE EATEN AND WILL BE WELL-RESTED. DESPITE YOUR EXPERIENCE, YOU’RE CLEARLY OUT OF PRACTISE IN THE UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP LEVELS OF RESTEDNESS.”

With the rules laid out like that, Sans could see Papyrus nearly bouncing in place. There was a hidden light in his eyes that spelled disaster, but Sans felt fond of the way his brother was looking forward to spending time with him. That, and he was a little drawn to how his coffee seemed to taste and feel just right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[I posted an illustration](https://slyskerbb.tumblr.com/post/188200978669/)** that I drew on my tumblr (sfw), of Sans cuddled next to Papyrus on the couch and staring gloomily at Papyrus' notched hand. [DeviantArt version is here](https://www.deviantart.com/skerbb/art/Postcards-From-Waterfall-ch-75-817150232) :)
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and compliments lately. It makes me happy to get them and I'm glad people are still interested in my fic! ♥ I have up to chapter 77 finished so there isn't quite so much of a wait between updates anymore :D Thanks for being patient with me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans takes his time resting and is honest with Papyrus.
> 
> Meanwhile, he and Papyrus go out to show off Sans' new attack - and his brother's worth is determined by an interference.

It took a few days more for Sans to finally gain enough ‘experience’ in the sleeping department, as Papyrus had so aptly described it. He spent days laying around at home, catching up on soaps with Papyrus, and generally just lazing about. Funnily enough, Papyrus didn’t hound him as often as before when he forgot to feed the pet rock, nor did Sans attempt to vacuum or do anything worthwhile. But hanging around the house had healed him in a way pushing himself would never do.

Apart from his tumble in the bathroom his first night back, Sans didn’t try to touch his soul again, nor did he bring it out to inspect. It still pulsed from time to time, and if he caught himself in the mirror, the glow was still noticeable. But it didn’t hurt. An idle thought wormed into Sans’ head that _Grillby_ could touch his soul, but it made him feel overheated and a little flustered to even consider.

He knew that other monsters could share their souls with the ones they loved, thanks to passing conversations when he was out and about and in the books Alphys had lent him. He just… had hangups about it. It was too vulnerable, too invasive. Hell, the idea of sex was less invasive than someone holding his soul. In fact, the few times that Sans recalled when Grillby attempted to test his boundaries made him feel a little nauseated and shaky. As with most things, there was only a brief flash of _why_ that was, and the sensation was so unpleasant that Sans mentally beat it back into the dark recesses of his mind.

During his days off, Sans spent the majority of his time either in the living room or hanging out in his bedroom. It provided a comfortable space to just relax and not have to think about anything too seriously, but of course he did the opposite. The only upside was that Papyrus was extremely lenient when it came to him napping.

A handful of times Grillby sent him texts, though they were mostly emojis. It seemed like the fire monster was becoming more liberal on how he expressed himself, and Sans felt a little giddy _thump_ in his chest every time he heard his phone go off. He took a picture of the twice heated burrito he’d smuggled home that day with the message “bone app the teeth”. He wished that he could’ve seen Grillby’s reaction to that.

🍬🌟 (Last message sent: 7:09pm);

\- So, how goes the resting?

*keep thinkin ab weird stuff  
*mostly just nappin wbu?

\- Wbu?

*y wat about u?  
*you^^^?  
*u no  
*how u doin

\- Miss you!!

*miss me like a toothache

\- Miss you as in “I am sorely lacking in your presence and I am growing deficient in hugs lately”.  
\- Papyrus has offered some on occasion, although I will admit it is not quite the same.

*omg  
*r u srs

\- It was very endearing, though perhaps it could have waited until the entire town wasn’t present.

*that a dig 2 paps bc i will fite u

\- Of course not!!

*o  
*well is it a """reputation""" thung cuz thats adorabl  
*e

\- I am just unaccustomed to public displays of affection, in all honesty?

*wat  
*r u srs  
*the guy that literally made out w/me durin lunch rush when i was fixin a cam  
*b4 we even started d8in  
*n another time when u pawed @me n hotland

\- What I mean

There was a pause. Uncontrollably, Sans started to snicker to himself.

🍬🌟 (Last message sent: 7:14pm);

\- I was merely testing how open you were to

*2? :D

\- You so delight in torturing me.

*wat do u mean i have no idea wat ur talkin about  
*pls tell me ur all flustered n pretty  
*pix pls im 2 cosy 2 cum over

\- I'm afraid I am a little less photogenic than usual.

*aw babe  
*ur shy thats precious  
*mumu

\- What is mumu?

*idk its like when u c a rly cute thing or a hot dog u wanna put n ur mouth

\- Your oral fixation is becoming more and more apparent lately. Here. I should think this one is relatively decent. Red thought it appropriate to offer his aid to the cause.

**[ 219.jpg ]**

Sans sucked in an involuntary breath when the photo loaded. Although it was overexposed as most photographs of fire beings were, Grillby was lit up with a gentle fond glow. He nonchalantly stood off to the side of the bar, his fire lighting up the glasses and bottles of liquour on the shelves with dazzling reflection.

Sans sighed deeply, going over the photo that had the fire monster in every sense of the word dashing, even though he was just his usual self, on the job, his arms folded over his chest in a way that spoke to how worryfree he was.

Since the picture was only that, Sans couldn't see the telltale glow of his soul nor the lights of his eyes behind his glasses, but the slight shy smile he wore was just visible when Sans zoomed in to peek.

His soul did its best impression of a drum solo and he idly rubbed at his sternum as though it would somehow calm it. It only worked a little. Grinning stupidly to himself, Sans messaged Grillby back.

🍬🌟 (Last message sent: 7:27pm);

*my lite  
*star brite  
*1st star i c 2nite

\- Sans!!

*wish i may  
*wish i mite

\- Sans, please… You're being silly.

*have this wish i wish 2nite

\- Ah ? ¿ ? ¿ ? ¿

*i wish grillby wud cum visit me w/ fries n a soda

🍬🌟 (Last message sent: 7:41pm);

*hehehe did it work?  
*id ask paps but hes scootin around the ruins rn  
*hellllllllllllllllo  
*babe  
*hm kinda wish i had reds # now 2 c wats up  
*wat a gr8 wingman hehehe  
*im just gonna go ahed n give myself 3 pts 4 that  
*actualy no makr that 5 pts  
*now that i no ur weakness2 my amazin jokes  
*im gonna win this time  
*hehe

Grillby didn’t reply after that. So, satisfied, Sans sunk down against the mattress, setting the phone against his sternum so he could finish off the burrito and top off his energy by taking a quick nap. Surely if Papyrus was out and about, he was ok enough to be by himself to catch up on some desperately needed sleep.

With his troubles more or less pushed aside for the moment, Sans sighed to himself and wormed into his blankets and nest of pillows. He was well on his way to drifting off again, sprawled out as much as he was able to, when his phone vibrated against his chest.

Cracking open an eye, Sans pushed the side button so the screen lit up, one notification signalling an incoming text.

🍬🌟 (Last message received: 8:06pm);

\- 5 points it is.

Grinning to himself, Sans shut off his phone and set it next to him, feeling oddly at peace.

Waking up the following morning led to a few concerns. One, Sans was wrapped up in blankets and couldn’t really move, and two, he was half fallen onto the floor, at the mercy of said blankets. And three, he was fairly certain that he’d overslept, as his head was pounding, but Papyrus hadn’t attempted to wake him up.

Groaning quietly to himself as his shoulder and every other bone in his body protested when he moved, it took Sans a few minutes to untangle his legs and free an arm from his cosy prison. It ended up with him thudding to the floor with a muted groan, then Sans pulled himself upright. His mind was fuzzy and his eyes were bleary and felt hot, but he was more or less awake. He sat half-sprawled at the side of his bed, lazily looking from one sock to the next until he heard his door squeak open.

Sans found an easy grin when Papyrus poked his head into the room, finding his brother oddly cautious.

“YOU’RE AWAKE?”

Sans laughed. It was easier, for once. “yeah. sorry, i overslept. or did you let me sleep in?” He yawned quietly, moving a little more to rub the ache from his right shoulder.

Papyrus entered the room to help him get up. “IT’S SIX O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, SANS. I CAME UP BECAUSE I HEARD A NOISE.”

“fell off the bed,” Sans offered, still half-awake. “six?”

“SIX!!”

“wow,” Sans mumbled, still rubbing at his arm. As he fought off the last dredges of sleep, Papyrus fixated on the movement intensely. “must’ve fallen asleep too early. did grillby come by?”

Papyrus’ attention flew back to Sans’ lazy, carefree expression from his arm. “NO!! WERE YOU EXPECTING HIM TO?”

Sans shrugged, his hand moving from his arm to his side to scratch at his hip. “nah, i wasn’t expecting him to come. i was just teasing,” he replied, as though Papyrus would have any inclination as to what he was talking about. “i feel ok.”

“REALLY??”

Sans gave a tired but honest nod. “all charged and raring to go whenever you are.”

Papyrus looked like he was about to hit the ceiling, so excited that days of pent-up energy and worry all fizzled out at once. “REALLY, YOU MEAN IT?”

“yeah, why not,” Sans said, slumping against the bed. “i’m not experienced at mornings. is this what you do when you wake up early? uh, have a lot of time and stuff?”

“OF COURSE!! YOU’LL FIND THAT EVERY DAY HAS A LOT MORE TIME INSIDE OF IT WHEN YOU WAKE UP EARLY,” Papyrus declared, and Sans laughed to himself.

“seems complicated, but ok.” A welcome silence, warm and good, spread over the two. Sans hummed to himself. “i feel ok.”

“THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY TO HEAR,” Papyrus replied truthfully, idly playing with his sleeves. “I’M EXCITED FOR YOU TO FEEL OK!! AND EVEN MORE THAN OK!! GREAT, PREFERABLY, BUT DAY BY DAY!! YOU’RE… GETTING BETTER!!”

Sans tilted his head to one side, gradually picking up on his brother’s unease the further into wakefulness he became. His grin slid off to the side and Sans hesitated, though forced himself to his feet.

“hey,” he said quietly, beckoning Papyrus to come near. His brother hesitated long enough for a frown to tug at Sans’ teeth.

But Papyrus complied, cowering just a little as though he were a dog that had been caught digging into the trash or stealing treats. Sans gave him an awkward smirk and absently rubbed at his arm.

“been awhile since you’ve checked me over,” Sans noted, pushing past his self-consciousness to extend an olive branch to his brother. “i know you’ve been worried. and, uh, truth is… my arm’s bugging me. can-” Sans stopped, pressing his teeth together in a hard line. “can you, uh…?”

When he looked up, Papyrus’ expression had softened a little. No longer did he look quite as apprehensive, but Sans felt the genuine care when his brother’s hands lay over his shoulder, ready to proceed without an argument.

“OF COURSE, SANS.”

Sans could tell by the way Papyrus held himself that he’d touched upon a worry that Papyrus was probably quietly suffering over. No doubt, Papyrus was sure to have more, but Sans felt that he couldn’t blindly blunder into touching bruises constantly until his brother cried uncle.

Instead, Sans kept still, sat on the edge of his mattress as Papyrus instructed him to remove his shirt so he could inspect for dings, scrapes and scratches. He noted a couple of burns from Grillby’s kisses near his hip, to which Sans remained in stunned, embarrassed silence, but moved up to inspect his ribs.

When it came to his right shoulder, Sans involuntarily flinched.

Immediately, Papyrus looked him in the face and laid his fingers over the spot where the limb connected to his shoulder once more. Sans inhaled another sharp breath, attempting to keep the ensuing wince to a minimum.

“THAT HURTS?” Frowning, Papyrus tested the spot again and Sans tugged his arm out of his grasp with a grimace. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Sans gritted his teeth, on the verge of pretending that nothing had happened. At the same time, he knew that if he shrugged it off, it’d only lead to Papyrus worrying more than he already did.

“uh… i might’ve overdone it a little,” Sans admitted cagily. “tried cycling magic with the boy, but it had backfired before. thought it was ok, but it’s been acting up lately.”

“`THE BOY`?” Papyrus echoed, confused. Then it seemed to click. “OH, YOU MEAN MISTER GRILLBY.”

“i do, in fact, mean mister-” Sans’ face coloured, suddenly flustered, “boy.”

“MISTER BOY.”

“now you’re just doing that on purpose.”

“AND YOU’RE EVADING THE QUESTION!! WHAT HAPPENED?? YOU SEEM TO HAVE A… A KNOT, HERE?”

“we cycled our magic, `cause his wasn’t kicking up again after being sick. and i’m usually loaded with energy-” Here, Papyrus snickered despite himself and Sans grinned in turn. “-har, har, mister funnybones. the, uh… `delay` thing’s been going just peachy, by the way.” He hesitated. “fixing itself after so long.”

Papyrus’ expression hardened with the mention of something being wrong in the first place and adjusted his hold when Sans rolled his left shoulder. Then his eyes softened, paying attention to the corruption of magic he picked out of Sans’ right shoulder socket.

“THAT MAKES ME VERY PLEASED. YOU’VE BEEN CAGEY THE ENTIRE TIME!! BUT I KNOW BETTER THAN TO ASK.”

“yeah. thanks.”

“YOU JUST GET SO MOODY IF I PRY,” Papyrus lightly scolded. “WE’RE FAMILY!! OF COURSE I’M SUPPOSED TO ASK YOU UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR HEALTH!!”

Sans grinned crookedly. “yeah, you do that. it’s ok. i know you worry.”

Again, Papyrus did that small pause that gave away just how hesitant he felt. Sans sighed quietly. “before that, i showed alphys my new attack.” He considered it for a moment. “y’know, instead of sparring, why don’t we just idle?”

“IDLE??” Papyrus repeated, sounding nearly disappointed. “HOWEVER IS THAT GOING TO GET YOU INTO FIT FORM!?”

Sans scratched at his jaw with his free hand and avoided the question directly. “well, at any rate, it looks like me going overboard and doing two things at once just drains me. my attacks? they’re big, but they’re fine. they don’t exhaust me in the least. but when-” Sans stopped when he realised that his example included the little golden flower and the heavy malintent Papyrus wasn’t comfortable with. He floundered around mentally for an alternative. “uh, like… like using the microwave and the toaster at once.”

Papyrus blinked, his reply deadpanned. “THE MICROWAVE. AND TOASTER.”

Sans’ grin tightened apprehensively. “yep.”

“YOU’RE NOT MAKING A LICK OF SENSE!”

Sans moved his hand down to rub at his sore shoulder with a grimace. “it makes sense, at least, like… configuring energy and how it flows into a house. if there’s too much energy being drawn from the same source, the power surges and the breaker blows-”

Sans stopped when Papyrus froze on a dime, though his hands had started to shake. Perhaps that was a brutal way of explaining it, considering that Sans was the breaker in that example.

“i’m bein’ honest, here, papy,” Sans admitted quietly, not liking the way Papyrus’ eyes fixed on him, wide and afraid. “as i’m figuring things out, i’m… i’m trying to be a lot more open about it with you. and doing some testing with alphys just meant that there was a control room and someone nearby to help if things went sideways.”

“INSTEAD OF YOU SHOOTING LASERS INTO THE MOUNTAINSIDE BY YOURSELF IN A PETULANT RAGE, YES,” Papyrus added helpfully, though he didn’t sound pleased about that at all. He took his hands away from Sans’ arm and rubbed over his temple as though to soothe an oncoming headache. Sans had that effect on people.

Now freed, Sans rubbed at his shoulder as his face flushed with heat, embarrassed. “i know.”

“YOU’RE GETTING BETTER AT IT, THOUGH. UNTIL YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO PROVE, HOWEVER.”

Sans was starting to feel a little more than apprehensive with Papyrus’ lecture but dumbly nodded in agreement anyway.

“here i thought i’d be able to show you my new attack as a surprise,” Sans said quietly, giving his brother a wink. “and here you are, already aware of it.”

“LASERS!! ARE YOU SERIOUS??”

“eh, i haven’t really played around with it,” Sans replied with a vague shrug.

“I SHOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO SEE IT!” Papyrus said, vaulting to his feet with both fists clenched excitedly. “TH.. THAT IS, IF WE CAN GET THIS BIT OF CORRUPTION TO GO AWAY!”

Sans rubbed at his arm again, absently going over where they’d have to go to spar. He didn’t have time to worry about it too much, as Papyrus took him by the dead arm and straightened out his elbow, causing another flinch, while his brother flooded the socket at his shoulder with soothing healing magic.

It didn’t necessarily hurt, but it throbbed with an intensity that made Sans suck in a hissing breath and clutch at the cord of the mattress by his hip.

“OH, YOU’RE FINE,” Papyrus said candidly as he pushed more healing magic into the sore spot. It forced the bit of corruption to uncoil in Sans’ shoulder, and despite it aching mercilessly, Sans clung to the soothing relief that poured over him after. “REALLY, YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED FOR ME TO DO THIS SOONER.”

“y-yep,” Sans could only say between gritted teeth.

“NOW,” Papyrus said after a cursory glance at Sans’ shoulder. Once he was apparently satisfied with the results, he gave Sans his best toothy grin. “FOR BREAKFAST, AND THEN TO THE FIELDS!!”

Sans was not used to being up at six in the morning. Nor was he used to being subjected to healing so ruthlessly, and certainly not rushed - well, that wasn’t true. Papyrus had nearly always hounded him into eating quickly so he’d have enough energy for the day.

He followed Papyrus easily enough outside and into the cold, where his shoes crunched in the snow. Papyrus led him through the icy ravine past their puzzles, through the upper chasms and northern forests, until they approached a clearing.

Sans knew it well. It was a place that was familiar, yet not. He could’ve sworn the mountain face reached higher, and the trees grew taller. Everything seemed to be more cramped and lower. Frowning around and not quite understanding but having a pressing guilt anyway, Sans waited with his hands in his pockets until Papyrus was finished inspecting the trees and surrounding areas for passersby.

He still felt apprehensive about showing Papyrus, though if truth be told, at least Sans knew not to use any secondary attacks with the beast looming around. If he was honest with himself, Sans didn’t know what the time stop had been, and he refused to look into it. Some things just shouldn’t be messed with. As an afterthought, he really didn’t need to be scaring Papyrus half to death if he passed out again.

Mercifully, Papyrus had packed some provisions just in case. Sans wasn’t sure the ‘just in case’ was intended for _him_ or just in general, but he appreciated the forethought.

Papyrus hung the bag on a tree bough, and once satisfied that it wouldn’t slip off the branch, he turned to face Sans.

“NOW! THAT! THAT IS OVER AND DONE WITH, PLEASE. TELL ME HOW IT WORKS!!” Papyrus shouted from across the field.

Sans rolled his eye lights at the distance between them and wrung his fingers against the fleece in his pockets, the warm fabric soothing. Then he took a few steps forward, not particularly wanting to shout back.

“heh, ok.” Sans fell into an easy stride, remembering the way magic linked from his soul to feed the construct. He channeled it down his left arm, letting the energy buzz and crackle between his joints. He allowed it to build, fed it to form and slipped his hand out of his pocket to hang at his side.

He thought about it. What would Papyrus think of it? There was really only one way to tell. The burn of magic started to make his wrist ache, collected into his palm and channeling down again, denser, stronger.

It had been weeks ago, so it shouldn’t have been strenuous. He should be stronger, if anything, since he wasn’t sapped of strength nor suppressed by medication. Overall, he was fairly calm, all things considered.

“it’s a construct. a big one. it follows you, though it’s pretty well-behaved, i think.”

Papyrus had grown interested by the way he’d pulled his hand from his pocket, though Sans’ words gave him an abrupt start. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU _THINK?_ YOU HAVE A SUMMONING ATTACK AND YOU DON’T YET HAVE FULL CONTROL OF IT??”

“bro, it’s fine. it’s not like i don’t got it under control or anything. it just watches. and waits. `til i tell it to do something,” Sans explained simply.

Papyrus’ apparent worry now affected him twofold. One was that he was concerned about the ‘breaker’ tripping and sending Sans into another blackout, and the other that… maybe Papyrus didn’t know what to expect from him.

That was fine. He was used to rolling with the punches nowadays. Sans adjusted his stance, the ache in his arm from the CORE magic steadily thrumming in tandem with his soul. There was more than enough room above him for the construct, so Sans didn’t hesitate as he did in the labs below Alphys’ workshop.

He ripped off the proverbial bandage and shot his left arm into the air, the strain tugging at his soul just as before. He hid a grimace when Papyrus covered his mouth with both hands, shrinking down under the attack’s shadow as though cowering.

Sans heard the rattle of bones and he eased up on the attack a little, pivoting in place to look up at it.

It was as large as before, a great beastly maw that steamed in the cold air. CORE magic fizzled around it and its eye lights were more solid than before, though it still hung in the air, massless yet ominous, surveying the target in front of him.

“O-OH. OH WOWIE.”

That was certainly a way to describe it. Sans drew nearer to the attack, feeling the odd connection to the looming skull as before. It continuously drew from his reserves, a silent trickle that made the fibres in his bones prickle with excitement and wariness.

“the first few shots it fired were a little clumsy,” Sans revealed after a staggering silence. He stepped closer to where the construct had manifested and gestured to it, as though to say ‘tada’. After a moment of consideration, Sans said just that.

It seemed to peel the anxiousness right from underneath his brother and Papyrus stood upright, swinging his arms out in greeting.

“WELL, IT CERTAINLY LOOKS… POWERFUL?” Sans couldn’t decipher if that meant that Papyrus was afraid or impressed. It looked like a throw up between the two, if he was completely honest.

“it, uh. kinda looks worrying, doesn’t it,” Sans admitted with his best nonchalant shrug. He rounded the beast, keeping an eye on its movements. It continued to hover in place, the air tense as though it was just itching to be commanded. “not really what i should be handling.”

Papyrus regarded the attack for a moment, his expression softening into the way it did when he was trying to puzzle something out. The more he thought about it, the more Papyrus seemed to relax.

“I THINK I’VE GOT IT,” he said cheerfully. His tone caught Sans off guard. “IT’S A DEFENSE MECHANISM!!”

Sans gave him a bit of a blank look. The construct looked all but defensive - it looked perilous. Ominous. Meant to take out enemies quickly and effectively. It was patient, but it was also calculative and just.

Sans continued to feel a draw on his soul the longer it stayed in place, seething with CORE magic. The snow started to shrink from its aura, melting away to steam.

Papyrus noticed and his frown returned. “THEY SAY A GOOD OFFENSE IS THE BEST DEFENSE?” he offered a little lamely, gesturing to the construct. “IS THIS THE LASER FIRER? YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT LASERS.”

Sans huffed a soft laugh, feeling on the verge of being out of breath. “i dunno, man. i’m kind of partial to particle beams.”

Papyrus gave him his best dirty look, then dared to start to approach. When he set one boot in front of him, Sans felt a shift in the air and Papyrus’ words faded into nothingness.

For a moment, the world grew dark, and it was only Papyrus and himself. No trees, no construct, only the ground below them, hard as a rock, and the limitless ceiling far above them. Papyrus stood trapped, his eyes wide and his limbs frozen, and Sans felt the peculiar nudge from deep inside his soul.

He’d never felt it before. Not a _real_ Fight - and certainly not with Papyrus. Sparring was always different, just chopping a little at defenses until someone had enough or was tired. And that someone was usually him.

But now, he saw his brother in the stark pitch of the gridline, humming alive with rules and properties he’d taken care to neglect. He saw several tears in reality, all leading to different places. Some awning, some small, some mere glows of neon-green, just waiting to burst free.

The construct shifted into existence and loomed above him, keeping him in place. If Sans moved, he knew that it would be a lot to handle. Even though his arm was poised and ready, Sans didn’t dare.

_Cooperate_

Something had urged him, gentle and resonating. Sans saw a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and he felt the Check performed by his brother. He huffed as the tightening, suffocating feeling of magic drained from him, leached directly into the construct. He wanted so badly to rub the ache away, but he resisted.

_Patience_

If he waited this out, what would happen? Would Papyrus be safe? What was the construct doing? Surely, it wasn’t sentient. It felt like it was, but he heard the voice, tenfold, etch along the deep scars left behind by his encounter in Waterfall, months ago. Like an invisible finger, Sans could feel it trace into the scars inside of his mind, leaving open holes, blanking his sight.

_Meld_

His mouth slackened as a burn filled him. He was a bystander in his own body, not moving of his own accord. His mind was mercifully still, resounding one word like a piercing echo throughout the entire universe.

 _‘He’s good,’_ he begged himself. _‘He’s a good brother, don’t hurt him. He’s done nothing wrong.’_

He felt another pinch and the air around him shuddered to a halt, every scrap of oxygen and magic lifted from the air. Helplessly, Sans gaped, stuck on a breath held hostage, his eyes wild and searching the sudden darkness in front of him.

Papyrus was gone.

_JUST_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [UneditedCookie](https://www.deviantart.com/uneditedcookie/art/Someone-Standing-In-Your-Shadow-816820392) (on dA) drew an amazing piece for chapter 6, where Sans is dogged at the CORE. It's a great interpretation!  
> I drew an illustration for chapter 16 (sfw) which you can find on [deviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/skerbb/art/Postcards-From-Waterfall-ch-16-817150494) or [tumblr](https://slyskerbb.tumblr.com/post/188414379169/). :D
> 
> This scene has been in my head since chapter 14!! I know I keep saying this, but it's been in the works for awhile. :D  
> Meanwhile it's all set up for the future. Hopefully you like it as much as I do!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans’ condition worsens after dispelling his attack, forcing Papyrus to leave his brother with Grillby as he goes to get help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** panic attacks, dissociation, brief reference to past trauma

When the world shifted back to bright whiteness of snow, mountain and forest, it left Sans gasping and shaking on his knees. He’d fallen to the ground, wet icy snow creaking in his fists. His eye sockets were wrenched shut, his chest tight and his soul shuddered in pain for what he’d see.

He’d seen the beam’s destruction before. It slammed into the side of the mountain and the mountain had groaned, pained, and the snow tumbled down in a cascade of punishment for his idiocy.

It had left a scorched burrow through the path in Waterfall, a half-moon fissure that eventually was eroded away by the tides.

He summoned the construct before Alphys in a more controlled environment, though it had almost ended with her getting seriously hurt.

But what would reveal itself to him when he opened his eyes now? Would he see a pile of dust before him, swathed in Papyrus’ red scarf? A pissed off brother who knew no forgiveness, or…?

No, Papyrus wasn’t like that. He was-

_JUST_

Just. Just, what? What did that mean?

The sound of bones rattling filled his skull, drowning out everything around him. Sans opened his eyes and immediately tears blurred his vision and fell to the snow between his shaking arms.

“COME ON, COME NOW-”

Familiar arms wrapped around him and pulled Sans up into their chest, and for a moment Sans just stayed still. His eye sockets had blanked out, void and barren, and his breaths shook just as badly as he did.

“SANS, TRY THIS,” Papyrus’ voice offered, and something was pushed to his mouth. Gradually, scent and form came to Sans’ senses and he blinked, tasting the sharp bite of old cheddar and bread.

Suddenly ravenous, Sans took the sandwich from his brother with one hand, keeping Papyrus close. He devoured the food in barely three bites, not caring that he lost half the cheese in his haste. He simply absorbed it as fast as he was able to, the burn of energy alight in his bones.

“m’sorry,” Sans rasped, his voice dry and hoarse as though he’d been screaming for the past hour. “a-are you ok, are… are you safe, n-not hurt, right?”

Papyrus pulled away for a short moment to examine Sans, devoid of smiles and searching for any hint as to what had happened. Sans’ hands flew up to touch Papyrus’ face. As he mapped out his cheekbones and his jaw’s contours, Papyrus protested vehemently, dodging Sans’ hands as best as he could.

“SANS, YOU-- _SANS,_ WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I’M-” Papyrus sputtered, clearly perplexed at Sans’ behaviour.

Sans’ soul seized with a horrible ache, something guilty burning his conscience like a white-hot iron. When he was satisfied that every little piece was in place, that there were no burns nor damage taken on Papyrus’ body at all, Sans pulled away to rub at his chest.

Angry more with himself than his brother, Sans gave Papyrus a brisk shove. “don’t scare me like that!”

Papyrus openly stared at him. _“ME?_ ME SCARE _YOU??”_

Another flood of concern and guilt heaved inside of him, and suddenly feeling more rotten than before, Sans grunted. “sorry, i-”

“SANS,” Papyrus suddenly hissed, looking extremely worried now, “I KNOW YOU SAID FOR ME NOT TO `FREAK`, BUT YOU WENT WEIRD!! I THINK YOU PASSED OUT!!”

“we entered a fight, i didn’t-” Sans stopped and faltered, “i didn’t pass out.” Papyrus sent him a warning look and Sans returned it with a scowl, suddenly defensive and insistent. “i didn’t. you disappeared!”

“I DID NO SUCH THING AND YOU KNOW IT! I’M NOT YOU. I DON’T JUST HOP OUT OF EXISTENCE BECAUSE I CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO WALK! I HAVE A BIT MORE CLASS THAN THAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH,” Papyrus explained, straining to keep his voice candid and pleasant. “PLEASE, SANS. THAT ATTACK IS FAR TOO STRENUOUS. YOU’RE _SEEING_ THINGS. PLEASE, JUST DISPEL IT.”

_JUST_

Sharply, Sans looked at Papyrus, who winced at his expression. Forcibly, Sans relaxed his face, then wearily rubbed over his eyes with one hand. His hands had gone ice-cold in the snow and they throbbed with an uncomfortable ache.

Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea, and along with the bad idea, Sans recalled multiple others. He’d been careful not to use any other attacks when the construct was summoned. In fact, he could still feel it looming nearby, making the atoms of the world shudder the longer it was present.

Summoning his eye lights, Sans craned his neck to watch it. It stared back; the energy encased around it like a protective barrier. Its maw hung open, continuously drawing in magic from around them as though insufferably hungry. Sans felt the quench of magic deep inside of him and, with a flick of his wrist, he banished it.

For a moment, Sans thought he saw something in its eye.

Recognition.

It made his marrow turn cold.

“you’re really ok?” Sans finally managed to ask once his voice was under control. His gaze lingered on the spot where the construct had hovered as though he could still see it. “you’re really not hurt?”

Papyrus gave him a penetrating look as though Sans had just asked him to divide quiches instead of pi. After a moment of consideration, he nodded, as it was something deeply rooted in Sans’ psyche that Papyrus had to affirm whether or not he was uninjured.

“I’M ALRIGHT, SANS,” he said softly, kinder now. “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?”

For a long moment, Sans stared past him. Then, abruptly, he focused on Papyrus. From his eyes to his shoulders, his neck to his chest, down the lengths of his arms and lower. He seemed to take in every detail, as though suddenly Papyrus had been gone instead of there the entire time. But he had been watching over Sans while the attack construct loomed over the both of them, whispers of thousands of voices as they wormed out of Sans’ teeth like insects.

“what?”

Papyrus’ brow furrowed with concern. “ARE YOU OK, SANS?”

Sans immediately jerked out of whatever daze that he was in. “what? yeah. of course i am.”

Papyrus set his teeth on edge, resisting the urge to grind them together. “YOU’RE NOT HURT?”

Sans stared at him like he had started to use a different typeface. The inside of his head felt fuzzy as he struggled to make heads or tails from whatever had happened. The situation only felt worse the longer it went on, and Sans could distinctly feel the sides of his skull throb as magic swirled around inside of him.

“what?” He paused, vaguely recognising the look on Papyrus’ face. That seemed to wake him up again. “sorry. i’m ok.”

Papyrus’ concern crept up on him. He didn’t hold it back. Instead, he held Sans upright like he’d slip out of his grasp into a crack in the world and he’d never get up again. Papyrus gathered him up into his arms when Sans’ attention strayed once more, knowing that he had to find answers.

Alphys. Alphys would have answers. If she didn’t, she would help Sans, just as she had before. She could find help, if need be.

Muffled from his chest, Sans’ voice drifted off, his eyes unfocused and far away. “don’t hold me like…”

“WORRY NOT,” Papyrus hushed him, all too ready to play big brother when it was required of him. He pressed Sans to his chest, ignoring the end of the sentence that continued to echo in his head.

_‘Don’t hold me like I’m dying.’_

He’d heard it enough, but Papyrus needed speed, not comfort. Sans was barely holding on enough as it was, and so Papyrus dashed through the snow towards town while desperately burying his panic. He searched through his mind, scanning over the events as they had happened.

Sans summoned his new attack, and the air felt heavy. They entered a Fight, where Sans idled, just as he had suggested. Then, the construct moved, but then it _hadn’t_ moved either. Something shimmered about it, desolate and hungry. Papyrus recalled being very afraid, and his bones shook even now as he ran across the fields. It had been like he was placed on a pedestal far above the earth and even then, he’d been looked down upon by thousands better than him.

He didn’t like the feeling of being so… inconsequential.

It was still early by the time they got to town. Everyone was still in bed. It had nearly been an hour, perhaps two when they’d last been in the streets. Not even the bunny’s shop was open, let alone Grillby’s or the library.

Carrying Sans had been an ordeal. Papyrus held him close, but Sans remained quiet as though stunned into silence. Sans still trembled and shook as though the magic in his joints wasn’t enough to keep him together, but on the whole, he had been dead weight.

His eye sockets remained empty. Empty and vacant - and yet something was there. There was a glimmer of gold that fought with the cyan of Sans’ innate magic, sparking anew if Papyrus stared at it for too long. It felt as though something was fighting within him.

His poor brother. He couldn’t launch himself across Waterfall and Hotland with Sans in tow. It’d feel too much like he was carrying Sans after he had Fallen Down, especially if he brought Sans to the labs in Hotland. If anything, a healer would’ve been better to find, but whom did they trust enough to allow them to perform a Check on Sans and not immediately judge and start recommending funerary arrangements…?

Hesitantly, Papyrus lifted his gaze to the restaurant’s sign as it came into view. It buzzed with electricity, and though it was very early in the morning, Papyrus felt as though he had no other choice.

Sans had become unresponsive, as pliant as a rag doll and just as cooperative. Papyrus gritted his teeth, pushing his brother against his chest so he’d have a free hand to bang upon the door. His soul hammered and he tried not to draw parallels between when Sans Fell and when he’d found his brother, unconscious in the basement after god knows how long.

The knock was loud and clattered echoes throughout the empty streets, making Papyrus’ face burn with shame. With haste, he rapped his fist against the door again, knowing that shouting would only draw unwanted attention.

But _damn it,_ Grillby needed to open his confounded door!!

Papyrus waited half a beat of silence, then went to pound on the door again, his soul doing frightened somersaults the longer he was made to wait. Instead of wood, Papyrus’ fist nearly met Grillby square in the face.

The fire monster didn’t appear to be too thrilled at being so rudely awakened. Something about him crackled and he sobered considerably when Papyrus bowled through the open door, covered in snow and holding Sans tightly against him.

“OH THANK GOD,” Papyrus breathed as Grillby quickly closed the door behind him to keep the snow from blowing in. “LISTEN, DON’T ASK QUESTIONS. HE’S FINE, MISTER GRILLBY, HE’S JUST A BIT SPACEY.”

Grillby turned a rather worrisome shade of dusky red when Papyrus eased his hold on Sans. Sans appeared to carefully step down on his own feet in a way that mocked gravity. Papyrus’ doing, no doubt. Then he was held by the shoulders as he was checked over, just to make sure. Sans looked as though he weighed more at the top than the rest of him did.

“SANS, I’M LEAVING YOU WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND WHO ALSO KNOWS HOW TO HEAL IF YOU DECIDE THAT YOU AREN’T FEELING WELL AFTER ALL,” Papyrus said. His voice shook as he gripped Sans’ shoulders a little more firmly, as though it’d hopefully force his brother out of his daze. “HE IS A RATHER PROFICIENT HEALER DESPITE NOT HAVING A LICENSE!! WILL YOU PROMISE TO STAY HERE WITH HIM? AND BE SAFE?”

As though he was fine after all, Sans gave a short nod. It was enough for Papyrus to inhale a shuddering breath, to fling his arms around Sans’ shoulders and squeeze him tight.

“I’LL FIX THIS. I’M SORRY. YOU WERE OK AND NOW YOU’RE NOT AND IT’S BECAUSE YOU FELT BAD THAT WE DON’T SPEND ENOUGH TIME TOGETHER AND I’M SORRY-” Papyrus huffed as Grillby approached. “I’LL MAKE IT RIGHT. L-LET MISTER GRILLBY TAKE CARE OF YOU AND FEED YOU, I-I’LL BE BACK!! LATER!! WITH ALPHYS!!”

Trembling as much as he did when Sans was recovering from his rebound, Papyrus turned to face Grillby, who had remained silent and half-asleep, but caught in the middle of the terribly confusing scene. He turned his head from Sans to Papyrus, the ends of his flames curling as though questioning. His voice had begun to get a rolling start when the taller skeleton clapped him on the shoulder, startling him.

“I KNOW I ASK A LOT,” Papyrus said, his voice raising with how frantic he had become. “JUST… PLEASE, IF IT’S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE. I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN I HAVE ANSWERS!!”

Before Papyrus had a chance to spin around and leave, Grillby caught his arm and held him firmly in place. He did so without thinking and when Papyrus flinched, Grillby had thought that he’d burned him and promptly released Papyrus’ arm.

 _“Papyrus. Please, don’t leave me with nothing-”_ Grillby hissed, his breaths steaming the air as his temperature rose in response. _“If he’s uninjured, what is wrong?”_

“OH, IF I KNEW BEYOND `MY BROTHER IS A TOTAL SPACE CASE BECAUSE SOMETHING HAPPENED`, I WOULD TELL YOU THE GRAND TALE!! BUT APART FROM THAT, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT, SO I WON’T.”

Papyrus grinned uneasily, unconsciously wringing his sleeves in his hands as they shook. Grillby fixed on the tic, the memory of Papyrus coming alone to his bar like a slap in the face.

“I CAN’T BE WRONG AND I CAN’T MAKE PEOPLE UPSET IF I DON’T GUESS. HYPOTHETICALS CAN BE TRULY FRIGHTENING!! IT’S THE WORST SCIENCE.”

Grillby didn’t know how to respond to that, though his eyes skirted towards Sans, still standing idle by the counter where Papyrus had deposited him. There was something eerie about his grin, like it wasn’t Sans’ usual smile. It was out of place, held up by invisible hands, spread wide and empty, just like his eyes.

For once, Grillby did not feel comforting warmth when he saw him.

“DO I HAVE YOUR PERMISSION TO LEAVE?” Papyrus demanded, suddenly rounding on the fire monster. “I’LL BE BACK!! I PROMISE.”

Grillby took half a step back when the taller skeleton approached, his flames hiking up defensively. Why was he acting so peculiarly? It was as though he expected to be jumped.

 _“Find help,”_ Grillby said, unable to say no to him when it came to Sans. He saw the hopefulness in Papyrus’ expression for a brief moment and braced himself for another impromptu hug, but instead the taller skeleton turned and left the restaurant.

Leaving Grillby alone with Sans.

Sans, whom was stunned, silent and scarce.

As Grillby watched, a thin coil of concern welling up inside of him, he came to realise that he had seen it before. The awful silence that followed Sans’ episodes, completely closed off when something was dragged out into the light when it wasn’t meant to be. Carefully, Grillby slowly approached as to not startle him, should Sans come out of his dissociative state on his own. He didn’t, though Grillby knew better than to shake Sans out of it.

Swallowing, as he had no idea how to break such tentative silence, Grillby leaned against the counter where Sans stood. He could stay amicably quiet as always, or he could attempt conversation to pull Sans back to the present. He wasn’t sure if he should pry; he’d always told Sans that he wasn’t owed any explanations or reasons to why Sans locked himself up like a prison, but something made Grillby feel that he could at least help him if there was even a little bit revealed.

Sad, but Grillby knew little else how to help. He inhaled a soft breath, it feeling oddly tight. Perhaps he’d try something a little ridiculous to gently pull Sans out of his state.

 _“Was thinking… grilled fish and ice cream for breakfast,”_ Grillby offered carefully.

Silence - thick and worrying.

The fire monster drew in another breath and exhaled quietly.

_“Perhaps you should… accompany me to Waterfall? Can take a swim.”_

The thought made Grillby feel queasy and his flames stuttered in rebuke, but it was absurd enough to spark something within Sans. Sans’ shoulders slowly slackened, but he wasn’t quite there yet.

Grillby smiled hopefully, it not quite reaching his eyes. _“Wash my back?”_ he tried again. _“Bubble bath.”_ This is what people who weren’t fire enjoyed, right?

Nothing else. Grillby sighed, worried. _“Shit.”_ He recalled the way Sans giddily demanded him to repeat curses to him, but it was a long shot, and Grillby felt embarrassed whenever he swore.

Sans drew in a shuddering breath, his head turning so stiffly that Grillby was worried that he’d been frozen again. The skeleton looked around, vague recognition in his eyes; and with it, sparked confusion. Something in his body language changed, like the spell cast over him was suddenly gone and Sans had to manage his own gravity from then on.

“…what?” Sans drew in a sudden breath, eye lights popping into existence, only to haze and fizzle out again. “grillby’s!? papy-”

 _“Easy,”_ Grillby interrupted carefully, raising a hand in an effort to placate him. _“He is safe. Went to fetch aid.”_

“why--how-” Sans took a step back, his arm bumping into the counter behind him. It jolted through him like electricity. “p-pap, he’s-”

There was something different to this kind of panic. Grillby drew near to ensure his safety, though Sans didn’t appear to register that he was there. Instead, he trembled violently, mad shakes jostling bones in the empty bar. The rattling sounds were sad to hear, something Grillby experienced hearing a time or two too many.

Sans’ breaths picked up, jittered, nonsensical little noises escaping him as he stared into the air. Grillby heard bits and pieces, small whimpers and cries he didn’t know how to soothe.

“h-he… he left, he, gone--i, f-fell, he. and he, he wasn’t--wasn’t there, i--and… and someplace else-”

Grillby drew closer, letting his heat settle between them as he took Sans’ hand. The bony phalanges reflexively tightened around his own, words harshly uttered as Sans took comfort in the unseen gesture. Between sentences that didn’t quite make sense or just frightened rambling, Grillby’s soul sunk with sympathy.

He got the general idea. This was a panicked response to Papyrus leaving when Sans needed him. That it was something that happened, likely sometime in Sans’ past, hidden in the trauma he suffered. Sans mentioned ‘Fell’ and every time he did, Grillby felt a pang of grief and loss at the words.

He held Sans’ hand tightly in turn, gradually guiding the shaking skeleton into his arms, loosely holding him around his back so he could glean as much comfort as Grillby offered.

 _“He will be back. Soon.”_ Grillby couldn’t help but offer soothing words and comforting strokes of his fingers, idle and light. Anything to take away the edge of fear. Sans only shuddered at the condolences, his breaths coming in tight heaving gasps.

_“Breathe, Sans. Can you hear me..?”_

A sharp inhale caught in Sans’ false throat. Then he held it and coughed, unable to calm. He tried again, frantic, his free hand desperately going for Grillby’s shirt.

“gone-” he gasped, and the broken-hearted and pathetic way Sans spoke made pain twist inside of Grillby. The fire monster gathered him close and attempted to wrench his free hand to brace Sans’ back. “he.. he left and now--now he’s not comin’ back, he… he took me, and… i don’t w--i don’t want--i _don’t want more medicine-”_

It became strikingly clear that Sans’ panic took him somewhere else, as though it had led from the same thing. Filling in the blanks with what he knew about the brothers, it was all Grillby could do but hold Sans close and wrap his arm around him, so his hand lay at Sans’ neck. He’d be a surrogate in Papyrus' absence.

Pain and sadness wrenched a muted sob from Sans, while Grillby held him close and stroked the back of his neck, aiming to soothe. Grillby didn’t know the painful ache of abandonment, but he’d seen the fallout of what had happened when Papyrus had to have a moment to himself during Sans’ recovery.

It wasn’t pretty.

He was an outsider looking in and it was the only thing that Grillby could do. He detested the feeling more than anything. Grillby was helpless, wanting to help calm Sans’ worries, his panic and fright. He swallowed thickly as a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, dropping onto Grillby’s sleeve to immediately ignite and burn away an inch of the fabric. It felt as though he was blindly floundering around, pressing Sans’ body to his, trying to evoke every good feeling in his heart and soul so he could radiate it back to Sans.

Grillby empathised too much with others in order to hold onto the positivity needed to be a proper healer. That was the main reason he had dropped out of his studies. He shuddered, feeling how tense Sans was against his body, drinking in his heat for all the comfort in the world.

At least he could do that, and the gentle stroking of his cervical vertebrae appeared to be doing something, slowly. Sans’ breaths gradually started to calm, catching on soft hiccoughs that shook him more than his trembling did. Reflexively, Sans squeezed Grillby’s hand, then brought it near to him. And Grillby held him closer.

 _“With me..?”_ Grillby whispered softly, his voice tighter beyond reason. It took a long moment before Sans met his enquiry with an affirming hum. Beyond that, he offered nothing else.

His eye sockets were still void, but his grin slackened to the point where it was a true frown. Nothing unseen held his expression in place. He didn’t pretend to be the same funny man that Sans always was. No, this time Sans looked wrung out and exhausted, like the past few days of rest had been him running a marathon instead.

Slowly, Sans turned his head around to survey his surroundings, as though he had just realised that he’d been moved. Grillby allowed his arm to slacken from around Sans’ back, but the skeleton didn’t appear to notice. What Grillby noticed was a high wire tension in Sans’ shoulders, so tight that Grillby was sure that he’d snap if he suppressed anything else.

Carefully, Grillby set his forehead against the side of Sans’ skull, a soft comforting little headbutt that was almost immediately returned. It sent a burst of emotion through the fire monster and the tension spilled from Sans’ shoulders. Just as quickly, the skeleton released his hand and slid his arms around Grillby’s chest to bury his face in his shirt. Grillby’s hand ached from being clutched tightly for so long, but he moved to envelop Sans in his arms anyway, relief flooding over him, however small it was.

A breakthrough. Sans lowered his head onto Grillby’s shoulder and silence came over him. He still trembled, though it wasn’t with as much intensity as before. His fingers wrestled with Grillby’s shirt, trying not to hold him so tightly so that he wouldn’t be shoved away. An apology hung thickly in the air.

Sans allowed himself to feel the gentle strokes of Grillby’s fingers along his spine, an echo that Papyrus was there to help him, even if it wasn’t his touch. The technique had been shared and it made Sans’ soul pathetically ache, feeling like a child that needed constant soothing more than anything else.

His voice was bare, so raw that Sans sounded as though he was parched. “m’sorry-”

 _“Don’t,”_ Grillby huffed quietly, buried in the crook of Sans’ neck like he belonged there. _“I forbid you to apologise for this.”_

A wellspring of helplessness came over Sans, bitter and angry but at such a loss that he just yielded to the fire monster’s words. He felt so pathetic that he’d fallen apart, ashamed that he’d been reduced to such panic, and Sans couldn’t even explain himself. He couldn’t give any reason as to why it had happened at all.

So, stuck, Sans sunk into Grillby’s arms, conflicted all at once over his fears and how raw and emotionally unstable it had left him. As childish as it sounded, he needed his brother. He both understood and didn’t want to believe that Papyrus left him behind because he didn’t want to bring Sans with him.

Sans wanted to speak, but he just couldn’t find the words. He instead listened to the way Grillby’s flames sputtered and gradually calmed, licking against his head and curling into small questioning shapes as though to ask if he was ok.

Sans felt the subtle presence of healing magic, tingling and warm, subtly soft and gentle as it flooded down his spine. It coaxed him to close his eyes, though dreaming was the last thing that Sans wanted to do. But his legs were tired, his back ached, and his skull was swimming with magic that didn’t quite feel like his own.

That, and he couldn’t detect the usual scent of CORE magic that normally accompanied the attack construct.

Resigning himself to it, Sans huffed against Grillby’s shirt and a couple of errant flames that decided to get up close and personal with his jaw line.

_“Hungry..?”_

Sans’ eye lights dragged from the fire monster’s nightshirt and up, then back down again. He shrugged slightly, a noncommittal gesture that spoke volumes despite the twinge in his shoulder. Distantly, he recalled that Papyrus told him to eat, even though he was certain that he’d just had breakfast. Twice.

He felt the undeserving throb of affection when Grillby kissed the side of his skull and a loss when Grillby pulled away just enough to share a breath between them.

_“Will fix you something to eat. Come upstairs?”_

It didn’t sound like Sans had any choice in the matter. Stiffly and quietly, Sans accepted and allowed Grillby to lead him upstairs, the two never parting as they climbed the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my birthday!! And also as of October 26 Postcards is 2 years old!! ♥♥♥ Thank you so much for your appreciation and comments and thoughts and love!!  
>  **  
> This is the start of a new arc, which will include the following: references to past medical issues, life expectancy, body/eye horror, possession, and health negotiation. It will uncover why Sans was experimented on as a child and why his puberty was delayed. I will make an effort to recap in the end author's notes but some details might be missed, such as how the characters react in detail.  
> **
> 
>  **Summary of this chapter:**  
>  [[Sans comes back from being mildly possessed and starts to panic because he doesn't see Papyrus, but hears the ringings of JUST in his head like a huge ultimatum. Papyrus helps to ground him and tells him Sans went 'weird' but not that he heard thousands of voices judge him like he was inconsequential. As they talk, Sans doesn't seem to be paying attention half the time, or losing focus. The attack is still summoned, so Papyrus tells him to dispel it. Sans does, but he thinks that it looks self-aware. Whether or not he feels drained or just starts to faint, Sans is carried back to Snowdin by a very worried Papyrus.
> 
> Since it's very early and the town is still sleeping, Papyrus goes to Grillby's to put Sans in familiar care while he goes to find Alphys and get answers. Sans has slipped into a hollow daze, looking "empty" and eerie. Grillby doesn't like the feeling, but connects with it as Sans being dissociative. He speaks with him to ease him out of his state, but the sharp difference in location and the lack of Papyrus make Sans panic and grow anxious, because the last time that happened was when Sans was carried to Hotland and Papyrus wasn't at his side when he woke up from Falling Down. He connects those events with his (medical past) and Grillby brings him back to reality. Grillby is able to calm him down and offers for him to have breakfast upstairs while they wait for Papyrus to come back with Alphys and answers.]]
> 
> Here's some art I received from the last update!!  
> [ddswsdd](https://ddswsdd.tumblr.com/) on tumblr drew some amazing ch ~12 gift art for me which you can see [here!](https://skerbbie.tumblr.com/post/188793865135) (sfw)  
> [unregisteredcookie](https://unregisteredcookie.tumblr.com/) on tumblr drew ch 10 fan art of Grillby approaching a shivering Sans with a gift, [here!](https://skerbbie.tumblr.com/post/188725535680/) (sfw)
> 
> Then I drew some art of this chapter!!! Because I really wanted to show you how Sans looks like when Grillby watches him in this chapter! :D You can see it [on deviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/skerbb/art/Postcards-From-Waterfall-Empty-Inside-819084575) and [tumblr](https://slyskerbb.tumblr.com/post/188794081374/)!! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus is overwhelmed in Waterfall, where he takes out his emotions out on some flowers and runs into Gerson. He vents to the old turtle, and Gerson tells him about something that sounds familiar from years and years ago. Something to do with the King and not having any jurors for awhile... After, Papyrus gets a worrying phone call from Grillby, just as the power blacks out and the call is dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** minor panic attack, reference to Sans Falling Down in the past

It was all too similar.

Holding Sans against his chest, running through weather too severe to feel, his body numbed to everything but the brightness of his goal.

And a building he focused on in the distance, the _only_ thing he could think of was to keep Sans alive until he could get to safety.

And he’d done so. Papyrus knew that it wasn’t the only thing keeping him going, though the magic in his joints burned in protest. The terrain proved to be more horrendous than usual and his chest ached with exhaustion. He wasn’t even half way through Waterfall when the traitorous blur of tears obfuscated his vision. He stumbled over the rocks underfoot that dogged him at every turn. His breaths became frustrated and tight the more his unsure footing sent him slipping and biting back curses.

It would’ve been prudent to rest. But then, Sans needed him. He needed answers, he _needed to be safe-_

Papyrus stubbornly wiped over his eyes, his breaths catching even though he was certain that he wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t even the least bit tired! He was just… exhausted. Tired, so worried, panicked for his brother, his only family, who seemed to be getting worse and worse with every day that passed.

And now his eyes were _leaking._ Papyrus gulped, unable to mute the way his bones were rattling, his body shaking so violently that he was sure to draw attention to himself if anyone happened to pass by. He snivelled, then slapped his face.

Still, he trembled. He wrung his fingers into his sleeves, to test the fabric and to help soothe himself, even when Sans was unavailable. He took a moment to just breathe, hiccoughing on every inhale, his breaths shivering and harsh when Papyrus released them in short, gusty whimpers.

He couldn’t help but look back to how it felt when his brother had Fallen Down, when Sans woke up dazed, confused and helpless. Sans’ right side had been an utter mess, crumbling where he lay, and he didn’t understand what Papyrus thought to explain to him.

Papyrus wiped over his eyes again, frustration building. He didn’t want to think about that! He wanted for his brother to be happy!! To be healthy! To hell with the secrecy, he wanted Sans to be unafraid to _live,_ to really go out there and do what he wanted to without any recourse.

And yet there Papyrus was, unable to keep himself together. How could he possibly expect Sans to keep it together if he couldn’t?

And god, he’d done it again. Dumped him in another’s care so he could run off and have _feelings,_ all because he couldn’t cope. He couldn’t understand how to process his grief and worry beyond hyperventilating in a small room.

This time though, the room was Waterfall. In a large open glade, likely filled with people hiding off in various parts to construct it better. He let out a bitter laugh as a wretched, angry bite of loneliness settled into his soul.

He used to be so much better than this.

He used to be greater.

Papyrus wiped over his eyes again. Accursed tears, betraying him. It was easier to fight them off with petulant reprimand instead of denying himself outright. He’d told Sans so many times that it was ok to cry, to let out the hurt when it came to be too much. He was very good at ignoring his own advice, something they both had in common.

For all the water surrounding him, Papyrus’ mouth felt extremely dry. He tried to swallow a few times, rubbing over his shoulder with his opposite hand to soothe the tightness in his chest. The panic soon became a familiar background noise, but the tears kept coming.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS LEAKING,” he said to himself, his voice shaking, “BUT I VERY MUCH DISLIKE IT. YOU CAN STOP THAT, ORBITS, AS YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS LEAKING WHEN IT’S ALREADY SO WET OUT. DESIST YOUR MOISTURE PRODUCTION AT ONCE.”

That just made his voice feel even more tighter, knowing that he was alone in the marsh, by himself with no friends, no family, and no one to be there for him. Angry and hurt, Papyrus growled low, his voice growing in volume, frustrated and high and echoing. A few flowers picked it up, sing-songing their repetitions in mockery.

It wasn’t like him, but Papyrus was growing to hate those flowers.

Right now. He had to do something, right now - or he’d go crazy. It was only subconsciously that he drew out a bone, fragmented and shallowly made, a haze of splintered bones trapped in his memory from long ago.

_Laying in a bed, hands limp, clutched tightly in his own._

His breath gusted out, held so tightly that it wheezed past his clenched teeth. It’d been echoed back to him. Just as it did, Papyrus brought the malformed bone construct across the patch of flowers and reeds before him, their voices cut short.

Then he repeated the action, blue petals sliced, kicked up and their voices gone quiet. He heard a small snicker from somewhere far behind him, but when Papyrus turned around, all that he saw was more echo flowers - laughing at him. Taunting him. Sniggering in the distance, picking up in speed and volume until he cut them down, left gasping and shaking in the mud.

The bone construct faded away. His little outburst was satisfied, but it left him empty, hollow and ashamed. Papyrus half-heartedly wiped over his face again, hating the humidity on it. He blamed the marsh for the reason why his cheeks were wet.

Papyrus never broods. That’s more his brother’s occupation, when he’s not avoiding questions or dodging work or healthy eating habits. Papyrus took strides to be a good influence, while also demonstrating for the local populace how cool and great he can be.

This, however, was not such a time. In fact, the shout from behind him caught him so off guard that Papyrus hastily rubbed over his eyes again with his sleeves and took on a full-body tension so tightly that it stopped his rattling. Not for long, but it worked.

“Whoa there! What’s all this racket, eh!?”

He knew the voice even before he’d turned around. And with it, every piece of advice and consolation made a new wellspring of grief well up in Papyrus’ eyes. He tried not to look so helpless, like he’d been desperately seeking advice in the field of echo flowers.

And he so desperately needed it. The poor old turtle had no way of escaping him, not that he would. Although he’d been caught a little off guard, Gerson sized the skeleton up before he shouldered his treasures in a sack and gestured for Papyrus to follow. They were out quite a ways, and the islands and rivers had moved things around again, the solutions to the usual puzzles different now.

Papyrus fell silent behind the old turtle and hung his arm in one hand, holding onto it to self-soothe and to keep himself from rattling if he had one too many emotions again. He couldn’t help a snivelly little sound when Gerson led him through a glade, the echoing shrillness of his earlier yell ringing in his head. As they passed, their mocking voices morphed into soft whispering sniffles.

Papyrus followed Gerson through a tall thicket of wet grass, now cold on top of chagrined. Gerson didn’t speak much along the way, but he had the astute presence of someone who’d scold him if Papyrus attempted to wander off. An air of authority, which Papyrus could never say no to. He had a militant glower, which soon softened when the old turtle slowly shuffled up to his perch in his shop, just outside of the river person’s ferry stop.

He’d never felt as small as he did then than when he did as a child, so Papyrus wordlessly took up the only other chair when Gerson gestured to it. He didn’t say anything more, just went about the small pet fire he kept and put a ready filled kettle onto it to boil. Likely for tea, Papyrus thought.

“Now,” old Gerson started, leaning himself against one side of the glittery cave wall. Papyrus sat up straight, attentive, though he didn’t feel as enthused for once. “Why don’t you tell me what happened out there, yeah?”

It was a different delivery than what Papyrus was used to with the old turtle. Instantly, he knew that he’d earned himself trouble, but he was fairly certain that there wasn’t any of the precious seaweed around that Alphys had been studying. He cagily averted his gaze to Gerson’s worn and cobbled feet, then away entirely. Papyrus wasn’t good at hiding how he felt. No one really needed his brother’s eerily concise facial recognition to see that.

“I SHOULD… ACTUALLY GO,” he started haltingly, the push of anxiousness rising in his false throat. Papyrus coughed to clear the knot; it was so obviously fake. “BUSY URGENT. I, I MEAN, URGENT BUSINESS. IN THE HOTLANDS. PROBABLY FURTHER, ACTUALLY, IF…”

What Papyrus didn’t realise is that Gerson knew the tics he displayed perfectly well. It was difficult to place unless one was looking for it, but old Gerson surveyed him with a penetrating gaze as much as it made the skeleton squirm where he sat.

“I used to see it a lot, you know,” he reminisced soberly. “Tried, oh, maybe forty times to wash it away? But the thing is, kiddo, desperation’s got an ugly stink. And it’s stuck to you.”

Papyrus opened his mouth to speak, but he found that he didn’t have the words to justify how confused he was. Prudently, he decided to stay quiet, although it made him agitated that the old turtle chose to sink an enormous amount of time into lectures on his bathing habits _now_ of all times.

 _He didn’t have time to waste._ He had to leave - Sans needed him to be as quick as possible!

“So, sonny, why not tell me what’s goin’ on, eh? Things this ol’ turtle’s seen before are the likes you’ll prob’ly never think about. Humour me! Maybe it’ll jog my memory, wah hah hah!”

It took Papyrus a long time to open up, though he’d drawn himself up tighter than a bow. He clutched at his sleeves, sat crossed with his arms on his femurs. He was pent up with the urge to _run_ and get Alphys, to bring her back, bodily or otherwise, to help Sans.

He struggled with the noise in his head, his panic a bare decibel beyond what he could bear.

“HE,” he started, miraculously eloquent. Papyrus’ mind whirled in a state of building urgency, his soul pounding viciously like if he didn’t start to move, it would overflow and explode out of his control. “LISTEN, MISTER GERSON SIR, I DO APPRECIATE THAT YOU ARE WORRIED. TRULY, I AM!! THOUGH, I MUST BE GOING. HONESTLY, AS MY… M.. MY BROTHER IS NOT WELL. IN FACT, IT’S PERHAPS VERY PRUDENT OF ME TO MAKE HASTE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE-” he implored, and with it came the mental accusations.

Why had he left him? Why didn’t he go back? Why did Papyrus feel that he was running out of time for everything? That he was both running out the clock and waiting for something to drop, when all he could do was go day to day and wonder if Sans really was as stable as they’d thought?

He had to pick himself up.

The rattling started up again, and every time he tensed, it paused. Then Papyrus would start up again.

Gerson studied him with a scrupulous eye, half-expecting the skeleton to jump out of his chair and make a break for it as soon as he’d turned away. Instead, Papyrus sat, agitated and in his head, far quieter than he’d ever seen him before. Gerson turned out the kettle from the fireplace to pour some tea and offered some to Papyrus, who merely shook his head.

“Unwell, eh,” Gerson echoed, as though tasting the words in their solidarity. He pushed on when Papyrus nodded, his spine ramrod straight. “I’m guessing it’s no easy sickness, else you’d just take care a’him yourself, mm?”

Papyrus gripped the fabric of his pants at the knees, still attempting to keep himself from breaking under pressure. He still tried to keep his smile easy, to will with every fibre of his being to stop from sweating so nervously. He had everything under control. Even when he didn’t, he could at least look that way.

“What’s happened, then?”

Papyrus felt it like a shot.

Like a dam, Papyrus’ eagerness to look ‘fine’ burst and crumbled away, the wrench in his soul tugging mercilessly. He inhaled a sharp breath, repeating the question in his head so many times that it sounded like an accusation.

What happened? What did you do to let this happen? Why is it even happening in the first place?

Papyrus tried for another breath, coming up short. God, he really couldn’t keep it together! His hands went to his sweater, thick and heavy like it had started to suffocate him. But that was nonsense, he just--

“I JUST… I JUST NEED TO CALM DOWN,” he said finally, his voice shaking. “SANS IS OK! HE’S JUST… FINE. HE WAS JUST MILDLY POSSESSED AND OUR FIRST FIGHT ENCOUNTER FREAKED ME THE HELL OUT BECAUSE _THAT_ SURE AS HELL ISN’T WHAT A GOOD-NATURED MONSTER, MY DUMB GOOFY BROTHER, SHOULD HAVE IN THE COCKLES OF HIS SOUL!! IT WASN’T HIM, AND NOW-” Papyrus shivered and shuddered a breath, hiccoughing and staring at the space between them. Distantly, as though from someone else, Papyrus could hear his bones rattling loudly.

“SANS IS FINE,” he tried again, “HE JUST BLANKED OUT ON ME. I SHOULD’VE TAKEN HIM WITH ME, BUT--LIKE BEFORE, I… AND I-”

“There, there. Settle down, boy.”

Gerson hopped off his stool to shamble over, handing over a kerchief and a strong hand to settle onto Papyrus’ shoulder. The tremors travelled up his arm, pinching at him with sympathy.

Papyrus shuddered another breath, though it appeared to be useless. His inhales were harsh, strained to the point of gasping. “M-MISTER GERSON, YOU ARE CORRECT. W.. WHILE I AM IN A HURRY, I AM DESPERATE FOR AID. ANYONE’S AID, REALLY, I’LL… I’D TAKE HIM DIRECTLY TO THE KING IF HE COULD HELP MY BROTHER. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I’M NOT SURE WHAT HELP BRINGING THE ROYAL SCIENTIST MIGHT DO, BUT I’M… I’M DESPERATE.”

That, and she had helped before.

There was a beat of hesitation before Papyrus clenched his teeth, his fists holding fast to his sweater. “I KNOW I’M NOT ALLOWING MUCH TIME FOR YOU TO RESPOND BUT I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY I’M NOT USED TO NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO, NOR… NOR TO WORRY ABOUT STAYING STRONG, AND NOW I’M AFRAID THAT LEAVING HIM BEHIND WAS A BAD, BAD IDEA AND NOW-”

“Ok, hush, you’re just working yourself up now, kiddo,” Gerson said sternly, but not unkindly. Papyrus’ erratic breathing continued, but at least he’d stopped talking. It truly was heart-wrenching to hear. “Now, I wanna help you, boy, I do. But I need clarification, that ok?”

Papyrus made a noise that was half an inhale, half a noise of agreement.

“Good. Good, so you say he’s possessed?” Gerson said it with an air of stunning enquiry, like something dark had just been brought to light. “How d’you mean?”

Papyrus caught the warning tone almost immediately and took steps to calm down. He wiped at his eyes again to clear away the tears that had gathered, unable to deposit them anywhere but on his sleeve. He drew in another breath, then another, until he was more coherent and his mouth didn’t feel like he just attempted to eat a box of stuffing.

“I DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S THE CORRECT TERM. BUT HOW ELSE AM I TO EXPLAIN IT? `HELLO, MY BROTHER TURNED OFF LIKE A SWITCH, BUT HE STILL MOVED, STILL TALKED, BUT IT WASN’T HIM INSIDE`?? IT WAS LIKE I WAS FACING SOMETHING ELSE? THIS ISN’T HOW FIGHT ENCOUNTERS ARE SUPPOSED TO GO BETWEEN FAMILY MEMBERS, CORRECT? WE DIDN’T BOTCH PROTOCOL, DID WE?”

Gerson could sense the rekindling of fright in Papyrus’ voice, so he reassuringly patted his bony shoulder. “No, none that I’m aware of.” Papyrus would have to take his word for it, Gerson being a veteran of the war and all. “Anything else? What about tellin’ me what you saw?”

Papyrus shuffled his feet uneasily, still fighting the urge to bolt from the shop to see Alphys. But that was nonsense, considering that Gerson was a fully capable adult that could help. And was offering, and…

_God, he didn’t know what to do._

“HE,” Papyrus started, then tried a dry swallow to calm himself. Reconsidering, he eyed the teapot and was more than relieved when he didn’t have to ask when Gerson poured him a cup of piping hot sea tea. He took a few careful sips, feeling a little kick of soothing intent along with a burst that he could do things faster.

Cautiously, Papyrus lowered his voice. “WE’RE SKELETONS, RIGHT? WE’RE NOT SCARY, WE’RE… ACTUALLY QUITE CUDDLY, RIGHT?” he began, hesitation wavering his voice. “WHAT HE MADE… HIS ATTACK CONSTRUCT WAS NOT ANYTHING EITHER OF US HAVE THE CAPACITY TO MAKE. IT’S TOO LARGE. IT’S TOO POWERFUL. NOT SAYING THAT MY BROTHER ISN’T STRONG, JUST-”

More hesitation, to which Gerson gently nodded to get him to continue.

“IT’S OUT OF ANYONE’S LIMITS, I THINK. IT’S NOT THE FIRST TIME HE’S SUMMONED IT EITHER, S.. SO I THINK THAT, PERHAPS, IT’S A STRAIN ON HIM? I-” Papyrus faltered, gripping at the kerchief and cup of tea. “WHEN I LOOKED AT IT, I SAW SOMETHING VERY OLD AND VERY SCARY. I FELT SMALL WHEN IT LOOKED AT ME. LIKE EVERY LITTLE THING IN MY LIFE MEASURED UP TO WHAT I HAD BECOME, AND IT WASN’T ENOUGH, AND IT MADE ME FEEL INSIGNIFICANT AND… THAT’S JUST NOT HOW SANS THINKS!! IT WAS SOMETHING ELSE, I JUST KNOW IT.”

Gerson seemed to take a keener interest then. Something in his yellow eye sharpened, no longer sleepy or carefree. He carefully manoeuvred around so he could seat himself on the stool next to the cash register. Then he took a notepad and some charcoal from under the counter to jot something down.

“Alright, kiddo. This’s sparkin’ something in the ol’ memory banks. Tell ya what. Royal scientist or no, all they’re good for doin’ are making neat little trinkets. You? You wanna head to the capital and speak with The Archivist. They’d be able to explain it far better’n I could.”

Papyrus watched as Gerson tore off the sheet from his notepad and hobbled over, staring him full in the face.

“Been awhile since we’ve had any proper justiciars! Would be a load off ol’ Fluffybuns’ mind, for sure. Wah hah hah!”

Leaving him confused, Papyrus took the offered paper, scanning the scrawl of text in hard semi-circled thin lines. He had to go to New Home, to the Archives, to see someone about…

‘Jurors and Justiciars’.

With an answer, finally Papyrus started to unwind and calm down. Gerson gave him an encouraging grin, though his wink looked more like a long blink; Papyrus thought that he was getting better at deciphering when one-eyed people were being cheeky or encouraging on the sly. The skeleton finally managed to grin a little bit, then drew in a shaky breath and downed the rest of his tea.

“I’VE NEVER HEARD OF THE ARCHIVES,” he said, a little lost after scanning his memory. It sounded fancy - something he would’ve loved to drown himself in, had he the time and knowledge. _Archives_ just spelled out something ancient, hidden knowledge that he could get his fingers on. “WHERE ARE THEY?”

Gerson shambled back over to his register to sit down, groaning when the stiffness in his legs gave him trouble. “North of North End, east o’ the castle, if memory serves me,” the old turtle replied.

“NORTH OF NORTH END,” Papyrus echoed, finally pushing aside his fears now that he had a destination and a goal. He carefully put the piece of paper away into a fold in his turtleneck. If he ran and got to the river person quickly, he could make it to New Home and North End by the end of the day…

And that’s when his cell phone rang. He hadn’t been expecting it, though the giddy little feeling that shot through him whenever he got a call was oddly distant, like deep down Papyrus wasn’t expecting good news. When he looked to Gerson, the old man looked ready to take a nap, so Papyrus quickly waved goodbye with a breathless thank you and stalked outside to take the call.

When he answered, there was a tinny, high-pitched drone sound from the other side. Puzzled, Papyrus looked at the screen, not recognising the number.

“HELLO?”

More static, or rather, it sounded like the braziers in the streets of New Home if one got too close to hear the gas being fed into them. Hastily, Papyrus stalked to the dock of the ferry stop and greeted the river person with an unsure grin.

“IF THIS IS A PRANK, I WON’T HAVE IT, I-”

_“--yrus..?”_

Papyrus’ eyes widened, knowing the crisp, crackling tone. Immediately, he knew there couldn’t be any good reason for Grillby to be calling, though the phone reception was so horrible that Papyrus had a difficult time understanding the fire monster. It didn’t help that in the distance he could hear the shutdown of a rolling blackout starting, and cell service would soon blip out entirely as it hit the rods in the ceiling.

Suddenly, he recalled Sans’ words with astounding clarity; _‘if there’s too much energy being drawn from the same source, the power surges and the breaker blows-’_

The breaker blows… The CORE…

 _Sans, what have you done?_ Papyrus thought miserably through the frantic, panicky fire noises on the opposite end of the call.

“LISTEN TO ME, MIST--GRILLBY, LISTEN. IT’S IMPORTANT. YOU NEED TO COME TO THE CAPITAL!!--FIND ME THERE, OR GO TO THE ARCHI-”

Helpless, Papyrus stopped, listening to the struggle on the other side. His hands shook as it became evident that it felt too real, too much like when he’d gotten that phone call all those years ago.

_He fell inside, we tried to get him as fast as we were able to, but his HP is falling and we can’t get it to stop. We’re so sorry; he’s Falling. We can’t heal him. If you want to say goodbye, be quick!_

“PLEASE,” Papyrus huffed, his soul pounding faster, so panicked that it felt as though he could feel Grillby’s heat start to burn him alive. “GRILLBY, PLEASE WHAT’S HAPPENING!?”

The call dropped, ending with dead silence.

Papyrus looked at the phone screen, to the little icon that denoted service. No bars. No network detected. Frustrated, scared and with a cold weight in his chest on top of it all, Papyrus tapped a message and sent it to the number. It displayed as ‘in queue’, and it would send when the network was back online. He only prayed that it was a cell phone and would eventually get the text message when the system came back online.

_If it came back online._

No, he couldn’t think that way. Lost, Papyrus looked down the channel into the direction of Snowdin. If he headed that way, he could see what was wrong. Or, he’d have to secure a room for them all in Hotland, or…

Indecisive, Papyrus looked in the opposite direction, towards Hotland and further, to New Home. He couldn’t go back. Going forward was the only option. Grillby heard his message. He could trust him, damn it!

Though, worry nagged at him from the darkness of his mind.

A chill crept up Papyrus’ spine and he shot the river person a desperate look from his place on the bank. “I KNOW THAT IT IS NOT YOUR USUAL DESTINATION, HOWEVER I WILL PAY YOU FOR TRIPS TO NEW HOME IF YOU ARE ABLE TO BRING US THERE. FOR A FIRE MONSTER FROM SNOWDIN, GRILLBY, AND MY BROTHER WHO IS ALSO FROM SNOWDIN, SANS. IT IS AN EMERGENCY.”

They inclined their hooded head, slowly, as though to perceive what Papyrus said with foreign curiosity. Quickly, Papyrus sent off the message with such finality that his fingertips felt bruised.

 _‘Tra le la~ It’s Monday today,’_ they sang, their voice an ethereal lilt while Papyrus froze on the spot, dumbfounded and afraid. _‘That’s good luck.’_

The skeleton stared at them and shucked through his pockets for the appropriate coin for a three-stop journey for two people in a hurry. His false throat felt tight, wrenched shut by the panic that clawed its way inside of him.

“GOOD LUCK IS GOOD,” he said finally, not really understanding why.

Something about the river person seemed pleased. If he squinted, Papyrus thought his eyes were playing tricks on him and that he could see a sharp grin from beyond the hood instead of its all-encompassing, vast shifting emptiness. Just as quickly, the apparition faded away.

_‘What about gold?’_

Without hesitation nor agreement, their sleeve shifted as their invisible appendage reached out for payment. Papyrus looked at it, troubled, but shook away the trepidation. He didn’t have time for that right now. As he settled the gold in the approximate place where their hand(?) hovered, the tinny noise of the CORE struggling piped down the river channel in muted shockwaves.

It made his skull ache, so Papyrus sat down on the bench within the craft, clutching his phone tightly in his fist. As the craft began to slowly glide away from the dock, Papyrus settled on rubbing over his forehead to nurse the steadily growing headache he’d earned himself.

He made up his mind. He’d meet them in New Home. Hopefully the power would come back on soon.

Hopefully Sans would be ok.

A twist welled up inside of him and he anxiously patted over the place where he’d hid the note from Gerson to feel the crinkle of paper under his sweater.

He’d be ok. Grillby was watching over Sans, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't anything truly horrible in this chapter ~~except for me tormenting poor Papyrus~~ , but I warned for the panic attack anyway. This chapter was originally chapter 79, but the following 2 chapters are as one scene which flows a lot better one after each other than split in the middle.
> 
> !!WARNING!! that the next couple of chapters have **eye trauma** and **body horror** warnings so be safe. I will summarise those chapters as best as I am able to :D
> 
> I know this story started out soft and gentle ~~with bits of whump~~ but honestly I'm... too much of an angst writer to not include some good hurt/comfort. And this arc includes a lot of that!! And I'm excited for the stuff that's going to happen :DD
> 
> Also, just as an FYI, The Archivist is going to be a minor OC to help grease the narrative. :)) I hope that doesn't bother anyone!! ~~Technically Grillby's personality is an OC but OH WELL HAHAHA~~
> 
> [ddswsdd](https://ddswsdd.tumblr.com/) on tumblr drew art of Sans being comforted by Grillby in ch 77 which you can see [here!](https://skerbbie.tumblr.com/post/189031664300) (sfw)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby consoles as Sans works through his dissociative state, gives him a yummy breakfast and a talk along with a heal. Sans gradually loses control and an unknown presence makes him feel ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s) for this chapter:** dissociation, body horror, mild possession, panic, nausea/vomit mention, mention of past medical procedures & non-consensual soul-touching, possession, bleeding out (sort of)  
> -  
>  **To skip the body and eye horror in this chapter, you may skip after "Sans just gave up the notion to get to his feet." but the following chapters will refer to it constantly since it's based on discovery and recovery, thank you!**

Sans remained at his usual place at the kitchen table, face half-buried into his folded arms, feeling morose. Grillby had lingered on their way up the stairs, but he was either unsure to keep his distance or felt that Sans needed his space. Either way, Sans appreciated it and watched, detached, as the fire monster went about to cook something for breakfast. He didn’t really pay attention beyond that.

His presence was a comfort more than his words. Though Grillby didn’t offer much in the way of conversation as usual, the fire monster’s bright aura drew Sans’ gaze from his pensive mood often enough to keep him from drifting off into another fugue state.

He felt rotten right down to the core, and on top of it all Sans didn’t want to think. He just wanted to stop. It was a lot to deal with, having been ripped out from one place and ending up in another, with Papyrus gone when he’d dropped out of the universe, cold and alone. Even now, the memory of long fingertips grazing over the white spots in his head made the surface in his skull ache like an old burn.

He didn’t know what to think. Should he begin where it all started - in the white lights of the office, or the room that he sat in, shivering in fear and staring off into space to protect him from what was to come. Did he touch upon the flashes of phials, could he focus on the sharp pain that gradually throbbed into a haze…?

His mind flinched as though he’d touched a hot stove, pain and regret at delving into the murky waters of his memory. Sans lost himself in the grooves of the table top and the small shadows his fingers made as Grillby’s ambient firelight danced over his bones.

A cup was set down, then something steaming hot was poured into it a moment later. Sans distantly recalled the scent and with it, the taste of liquorice. He didn’t focus on it, drawn instead to the heat, and also the subconscious and curious fright his attack construct had subjected him to.

_JUST_

It was like the scales had weighed his brother’s eptitude, and Papyrus came out on top and in their favour. Something inside of Sans gave a pathetic little thump, startled by the revelation. What would’ve happened if it _hadn’t_ worked out…? Would he have…

A warm hand settled onto his shoulder. It had little weight to it, but it was enough to sink into his ache and make Sans exhale with a flinch. Though he didn’t want to, Sans’ eye lights rolled up to meet with the concerned fiery visage of his long time friend, steady and calm despite having been told nothing.

An anchor in the darkness. His voice was a lulling hum of fire that Sans just couldn’t focus on whether he wanted to or not. In fact, it was difficult to focus on anything other than the distinct throb of pain in his shoulder, so he didn’t.

Despite his silence, Sans made an effort to pick at the crèpe set in front of him with a fork. Blueberries in a compote and melted gruyère cheese drizzled over it in long sticky waves, resulting in a sweet and savoury dish that was accented by thin slices of almond. With it, the intent for sweet calm, of silent comfort that had ‘Grillby’ written all over it. For him, love was the essence of concern, of hope and gentle healing. It made Sans’ soul pinch, knowing it was unfair to him.

“sorry. don’t much feel like talking,” Sans finally said, his voice raw and soft.

Understanding, Grillby leaned in close and pressed his mouth to kiss the crown of Sans’ skull, all gentle heat and patience. It was enough to make Sans feel as though he could convince himself that he was worth such affection, both yearning and afraid again. It pinched down the column of his spine, trapping words and fears into every vertebrae, locking him upright.

Swallowing a portion of the crèpe, Sans was hit with another burst of intent. He was so susceptible to it that he shuddered in a breath, feeling a hot prickle of shame at his eyes. Sans shakily wiped over his face and took another bite, his appetite slowly reawakening as he fought through the guilt in his heart and struggled to meet Grillby’s eyes.

Still, he focused on the fire monster’s warm touch at his back. He didn’t want him to leave, and Sans only hoped that Grillby knew that. He sucked in a shaky breath, his grin uneasy but tight, trying to keep his sounds to a minimum as his hands trembled. More persistent rattling clamoured in the dim kitchen.

Like the sturdy glow of a fireplace, Grillby hung to his left and sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs, keeping a comforting silence as long as Sans needed him to. Even though he’d been told that Sans didn’t want to talk, Grillby still wanted to offer comfort in the small ways that he could.

 _“Will return,”_ he started, the roll of fire hesitant but not unkind. _“Your brother.”_

Sans’ hand paused it journey of bringing another helping of breakfast to his mouth. His grin wavered in place, still shakily attempting to keep his body from trembling. He was failing.

_“Promised.”_

Sans looked to Grillby, an intensity in his eyes that spelled desperation. His grip on the fork was so tight, he was sure to bend it or send the food flying. It would’ve broken the tension with a bit more comedy than Sans felt at that moment.

“promised,” Sans echoed, his voice bare. His eyes were a little hazy. “he promised.”

It hurt for Grillby to see Sans this way, but he kept a hand braced on his back. _“He did.”_

Grillby could pinpoint the moment when the tension eased from Sans’ spine. It flooded out of him, some of it trapped unevenly in his shoulders, but Sans visibly relaxed.

“god, i’m a wreck.” Sans laughed bitterly, the break in his voice making Grillby’s heart ache. “i’m fallin’ apart.”

 _“No,”_ Grillby said quietly and in earnest, his thumb leading his hand as it grazed Sans’ spine in soothing circles.

“he’s all i got, and-” Sans stopped himself short, his tone wretched. When Grillby didn’t say anything, the pervasive question lingered between them like a black fog. It sapped him of the capability to speak, rendering him mute. Helpless, Sans stared at his breakfast.

Grillby knew that Sans’ desire to speak lay in the same line as his need to stay quiet, so he didn’t push him. Instead, the fire monster lay his arm around Sans’ shoulders, his hand detecting a flinch in his right shoulder.

Again, he’d need to be gentle with his questions. He wasn’t owed anything.

Grillby felt Sans lean in closer to him when he pulled him near to kiss again. A small trickle of a shudder interrupted Sans’ rattling, and with it came a restrained huff, like Sans had held back something that would’ve become louder.

 _“Feel tired?”_ Grillby asked quietly, then watched as Sans slowly shook his head. _“Still hungry?”_ Again, no nod. Grillby swallowed his fears and carefully stroked at Sans’ right shoulder, the words _dead arm_ ringing in his head. _“Have pain..?”_

Hesitance. Grillby knew it; he could sense it lock up in Sans’ spine. He knew drawing attention to Sans’ body would have some kind of effect, as the skeleton wasn’t keen on sharing his mental state, although he definitely could use some assurance in that department. Carefully, he ended up nodding, sneaking a furtive glance.

It took some coaxing for Sans to turn Grillby’s way, but gradually, as though spooked by something unfathomably dire, the skeleton didn’t speak. He at least had turned to the fire monster, shoulders slumps and eye lights averted. Grillby matched his posture, his form gangly and unkempt in his pyjamas.

 _“Alright to Check..?”_ the fire monster offered carefully, keeping his tone level and smooth. He didn’t touch Sans anymore, though he could see just how the question affected Sans by just the subtle way he held himself.

Sans swallowed, the amount of hesitation in the air thick and heavy. It took longer than he would’ve liked to answer with a simple, “yeah.”

> **[ * SANS 1 ATK 1 DEF  
>  ** *** could use some reassurance ]**

Grillby’s throat tightened a little, his expression tense. It wasn’t like Sans to reach out for comfort, not like this. The skeleton’s eyes remained downcast, until the next part of the Check popped up.

> **[ * 1 HP ]**

Different, considering how high it had been lately; whether it be 15 or 5 HP, it was usually higher than 1 lately. Grillby’s flames crackled with concern, but he reminded himself that it was Sans’ innate state. He stroked the skeleton’s head, feeling Sans’ breath shudder between them.

 _“Normal,”_ Grillby revealed softly, and with it, Sans swallowed thickly.

“normal,” he echoed, his voice still bare and clinging to the word like it was all he had left in the world. Sans huffed, trying to laugh, but it came out pained instead. “right.”

Unconsciously, Grillby’s eyes settled on Sans’ right shoulder, allowing the Check to linger. With it displayed a vulnerable variable that wedged itself into his soul, locked there like a picket. A knot of magic, a flare of pain and raw connections that still bled after decades of being exposed. Grillby recalled a brief flare of sympathy pain when he’d Checked Sans during his rebound recovery, but Sans had reacted with such a panic that it had flown from his mind.

Sans should not be alive, not after everything that he’d endured. But he was, and Grillby was so thankful for that.

 _“Help me,”_ Grillby offered, his voice scarce. For emphasis, he gently cupped Sans’ right shoulder. _“When did this happen?”_

Sans attempted to swallow the knot in his false throat. It took a few tries before he got it unwedged, to work the fingers that trapped his voice to uncurl from around his spine. He fixated on the words, making sense yet none at all, forcing his attention into two spaces at once.

One; when did he lose the use of his arm?

Or two; when had he started to feel pain in his shoulder?

He decided to go with the easier route, such as it was. Sans huffed when the gentle stroke to his shoulder ignited another throb of pain, unsure why it was lighting up so quickly.

“dunno,” he tried evasively. When he looked to see Grillby’s expression, Sans repressed a flinch. The persistence continued until Sans awkwardly moved his shoulder, a hiss caught at his teeth. “fine. when my magic hiccoughed the first time we cycled our magic.” He abruptly stopped, his voice threatening to give out before he added hastily, “it’s not your fault, before you get it into your head that it is.”

Grillby considered him for a moment before he attempted a reply. It was oddly confrontational of Sans, but then Sans’ behaviour had been surprisingly brash lately.

That, and he was stuck in a metaphorical pit, hurt and with no brother around to assure him of his well-being.

Grillby decided that silence was the best recourse and began to trickle healing magic into the joint beneath his right hand. Sans sucked in a surprised breath, harsh and hissing as though it had hurt a lot more than Grillby originally thought. The fire monster carefully levelled out the stream of magic, letting it touch upon the ache instead of filter through to it. Sans made a low noise of complaint.

 _“Apologise if it hurts,”_ Grillby murmured carefully, idly caressing the spot as more healing magic, alive and vibrant green, seeped into Sans’ shoulder.

“just… sensitive,” Sans hiccoughed, the phalanges of his dominant hand clutching at his knee. After a few moments, the spot began to ache more, and Sans couldn’t help the awkward noise he made, like he’d burned himself. “it’s a lot.”

_“I’m sorry.”_

Sans looked to Grillby. Grillby didn’t meet his eyes, though something about the fire monster looked truly sad. Sans could only think of why, a coil of guilt pitting against himself at the very core of him, accusing him of causing so much pain and worry.

The thing was, that little niggling feeling was right.

As though to push those feelings aside, Grillby said, his voice soft, _“I am… not good with the healing arts.”_

That caught Sans a little off guard, concerning their history.

Grillby’s eyes flicked to his face, then down to Sans’ shoulder with a shy smirk. The healing pulse was steady and thrummed like a tight string, making Sans’ clavicle feel numb. Unable to help himself, Sans exhaled sharply. It almost sounded like a laugh.

“good thing i give you lots of practise.”

The fire monster’s mouth quirked with a wry smirk, but he remained focused. Something about the way his flames moved seemed lower, gradually reddening over time. Another shot of sensitivity pierced up Sans’ arm. Unable to help himself, Sans grabbed the ache and curled away from Grillby’s touch.

Grillby withdrew his hands, but they remained up, placating and unsure where to rest.

He sought a way to keep Sans distracted from the pain. The healing had touched upon the raw connections and Grillby sorely wished that he’d stayed just a little longer at the academy to really hone his skills.

Grimacing, the fire monster offered, _“Should call your brother.”_

The result felt more like a reprimand than the gentle reassurance it was meant to be. Sans flinched, even going as far as to close an eye and shrink away. Grillby still kept close, but he didn’t dare touch him. Then, as quickly as it had happened, Sans relaxed.

“ok.”

A simple agreement. Grillby was almost impressed. He drew in a breath and sent Sans a gentle smile anyway, knowing that the healing had barely even started. He recalled the amount of time he’d spent desperately attempting to bring Sans ‘Up’ again at the hotel, and he had exhausted himself as a result.

Carefully, he rested his hand on Sans’ shoulder again. Sans didn’t flinch, but he eyed him with a slow wariness that made Grillby’s soul pinch with sympathy. Then, just as easily, he dragged the pad of his thumb over Sans’ clavicle and withdrew his hand. With his slowness, Sans averted his gaze.

“i’ll explain when i got answers. is that ok?”

Grillby nodded, hesitating to part with Sans for long enough to make a phone call. He wrestled with the sadness that welled up inside of him, unable to keep it from touching his flames. Cautiously, he turned and got up to fetch his cell phone from his bedroom, leaving Sans by himself.

Grillby moved to leave the kitchen and made his way into the hall as Sans’ eyes followed him, small and hazy. Sans wasn’t sure if Grillby hesitated down the hall due to his words, but the broken and bitterly uttered self-deprecation tumbled out anyway.

“yeah, sure. when i get answers.”

All he could do was push himself as Grillby’s gentle warmth seeped down the hall, moving out of sight. Sans waited, alone in the kitchen while he strained his hearing for some kind of sound. Fire rarely made a noise, only a hum or a spare crackle - Grillby was silent as he moved down the hall and his glow went out of sight.

Sans desperately hoped for Papyrus to return, though with every moment that passed, he felt as though his poor brother should’ve stayed. He was the youngest, but he kept him together and probably would’ve been able to soothe him during his time of need.

He was pretty sure that Grillby didn’t quite know what to do when he was like this. Sans had a way of feeling as though he was an enormous burden, to the point where if he wasn’t easily consolable, then Grillby would start to get exasperated with him.

That hurt. Why did he do that to himself? Sans sat, now morose and jumping at every distant beat, and sinking further and further away into self-loathing and confusion.

Sans stared down at his shoes. Memories cropped up, brief flashes of hurt that flickered out like dying synapses. The room was small. Just enough room for him, a cot, a chair and some cupboards.

_Don’t think about it._

Wavering between those fragments and the way his body felt during the Fight, Sans stared, fixed on the line of hardwood joins in the floor.

That fuzzy feeling when the deep voice came back, plying him with coaxing words of encouragement that it’d be all over soon, just relax.

Sans jerked his mind back to the present so hard it felt like whiplash. He grimaced, feeling a slight burn in his chest, like the magic in his body was rebelling, trying to rise up his spine to expel. He focused on not gagging, to fight the bile taste in his mouth and the memory of needles, of gloved hands keeping him down, enclosing around his soul-

He’d become so lost in his thoughts that it soon became difficult for Sans to focus on anything tangible in the real world. He didn’t feel the chair under him, the heaviness in the air, nor the way that his breathing caught with every inhalation. He leaned to the side, trying to veer away from the growing ache and golden-yellow magic that flooded his right side.

It didn’t hurt. But he distantly knew it wasn’t a good thing.

Maybe he just needed to stand up, to get the ol’ magic flowing again. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so out of it, like the world was slowly dipping to the right like his arm and leg were made of lead instead of bone. Sans swivelled on the chair, the movement creating a rush of vertigo like a smack in the face.

It was worse on the left side, so Sans covered his eye and leaned over the back of the chair with one arm, the illogical pull weighing on him. Invisible hands beckoned him down, crawling, sinking further, until Sans just gave up the notion to get to his feet.

It made his head swim, waterlogged instead of light. His skull felt so full that whatever was inside of it sloshed out of his eye sockets, trickling down his face, wrapping under his chin and spilling down his shirt. Blindly, Sans cupped at his eyes, unsure whether to keep the liquid magic from pooling inside of him or to allow it to drain out.

He gave a slight cough, and with it, his sight broke. It was oddly detached, his senses floating away as the fragments of his vision splintered like a shattered kaleidoscope. He couldn’t help the caught whimper in his false throat, nor the way echoes from far away seemed to shadow the room in a golden fog.

_I can’t see._

Sans opened his mouth to gasp, to breathe, to attempt anything beyond the sudden clench of his soul, petrified from what was happening. Tears ran down his cheeks, escaping his clutching fingers to run in between his teeth. He tasted the metallic tang of iron, of copper and silt. He gagged, his fingertips digging into his maxilla to scratch out the cause.

_Why was he bleeding??_

Why could he see nothing but varying shades of gold, tasting marrow in his mouth, frozen to the spot like he was condemned there til the rest of his days?

Sharply, Sans inhaled, feeling a bite of pain surge in his arm. Somehow, it cleared his vision, something to ground him with. Sans stared openly into his palms, colour and light returning to the world until he realised the fire just out of his field of vision, burning low and dark.

He was shaken. He hissed a breath and lunged for the arms that took him, too many to name and too many to fight off. Sans froze, a cry strangled before it could form in his chest. He stared openly at the space between his body and the floor, unable to tug himself away.

_Absorb_

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right, he had to get out. He wasn’t in Grillby’s suite anymore. Grillby had probably gone to get help, to phone his brother, and-

_Papyrus-_

_JUST_

Sans flinched as the name came to mind. His body shook. He’d been shaking the entire time, and he was only just then starting to realise it. He attempted to grab at the fire, half-blinded by orange and gold and, god, he hated how he couldn’t see anything except for that.

Another pinch at his arm forced a feeble shout to tear itself up from Sans’ false throat. Unable to hold himself steady, he allowed the arms to hold him upright _(like they usually did)_. He didn’t resist, the small, aching little scratch on the inside of his skull digging deeper and deeper as invisible nails dug into the grooves.

_Bone_

Yes, he was bone. Whatever this was that had decided to inspect him like a bit of specimen not normally seen _(too precious to lose)_ , but too unstable to keep up with the _work, so much work, if keeping it at bay was the only matter, he-_

He’d just be done with it already, let the law of the world manifest through someone else-

Either through maturation or through the manifestation of his high HP, it would possess him like a shadow, lingering in the dark spaces until it awoke, sharp and hungry.

_Sharp and hungry._

Sans felt a small spike of fear curl up at the very centre of him, clenching his teeth hard. A whimpered plea fell from between his teeth, tight and heavy. He resisted. He knew that he was resisting, but at the same time it was something that Sans felt he should just allow to happen. It filled him on the inside, cold fear laying thickly against his bones, only to be heated by something close by.

_Consume_

“get-” Sans started, his voice shivering uncontrollably. He pleaded with the warm figure in front of him. Their hands tightly gripped at him, shaking. Distantly, he knew who it was and could distinguish their voice from the cold fear that coiled up from within his body. “get papyrus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Summary of skip point:**  
>  Sans feels fluids leak out of his eyes, he can't see, and it keeps running out. He tries to stop the flow and even though he's not in pain, he still panics. Grillby eventually comes back after Sans senses enquiries in his head like a different presence, saying familiar phrases from an encounter in Waterfall (in chapter 14), "ABSORB", "BONE", and "CONSUME". Sans experiences flashbacks to when he was examined in his youth by doctors, like the entity in his head is curious about him. Since he doesn't know what to do and he feels weary on top of unbalanced, he tells Grillby to "get Papyrus".
> 
>  **The eye trauma/fluid stuff will be ongoing for at least the next 4 chapters.** I will attempt to summarise as best as I am able to. :')


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby scrambles for help when Sans sinks into a catatonic state, gets a phone call from Papyrus, and the power goes out. Panicked, he sets out with Sans in tow to look for Papyrus in New Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** eye trauma, mild body horror, seizure, panic attack, dissociation, mild possession, hints at past medical abuse  
> -  
> There is really no way to censor or skip throughout this chapter so there are no skip points, but there is a summary at the bottom.

Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more frazzled by anything, Grillby had come back to Sans convulsing on the chair, barely registering his touch when he seized his arms to keep Sans from falling. Grillby searched the skeleton’s face, his eye sockets blanked and hollow, dribbling a yellow ochre liquid like quickly falling tears.

It spilled down Sans’ face, under his chin, soaking his front. He made nonsensical little noises. It wasn’t quite of pain, but Grillby could tell that Sans was afraid and confused. Sans pawed at him for purchase, likely in his haste to touch anything familiar. Grillby got the distinct impression that Sans didn’t register his presence until just then.

“i can’t see,” Sans was saying, mumbling like he was trying to avoid the liquid that would trickle into his mouth. “i, i don’t know w-what’s happening, grillby. am i bleeding…? i-”

Hastily, Sans swallowed and regretted it, if the gagged noise he made was any indication. Grillby couldn’t find his voice, but his flames crackled and snapped with confirmed worry. When he carefully gathered Sans into his arms, Sans’ head lolled forward, like every limb of his was held together with string. To Grillby’s horror, he felt the liquid spread into his clothes along with soft patters onto the floor.

“grillby,” Sans tried again, louder this time. His voice shook imploringly and Grillby held onto him tightly in turn.

Fear and concern twisted within the fire monster’s core and he knew he had to keep strong and composed for Sans.

_“Not bleeding.”_

All the while, tiny whimpers and trembles shook Sans’ body, like he was afraid to be touched, to check himself, or to recognise anything beyond what was happening. Sans swallowed a time or two, attempting to remain calm, but Grillby wasn’t sure what to do beyond hold him.

Sans’ teeth clenched on the following words; “what’s l.. leaking, i-” He shuddered a breath, every one igniting panic between them. “i don’t like this. please don’t go quiet, i--i need you to talk to me, buddy, ok, or… or i’m gonna freak out, i--i don’t know what’s going on-”

While Grillby conceded that Sans was remarkably coherent for what was happening, he desperately _hoped_ that it was only temporary blindness. Then Grillby could make himself a pillar of strength when Sans needed him to be. On the other hand, his flames fluttered wildly with how he truly felt, panicked, concerned and confused.

“if,” Sans started, then swallowed again, this time cautiously. “if it’s not blood, or magic, then what… what is it?”

Sans didn’t appear to be in pain, so Grillby carefully brushed the pad of his thumb over Sans’ cheekbone, smearing the golden ochre like oil. He saw something spark within Sans’ good eye, a deep drop in his soul signalling more fear.

_What about gold?_

_“Not sure. It is… golden coloured,”_ Grillby offered as calmly as he could. He hoped the tremor in his voice didn’t betray him. _“Thick, like oil. Not blood. You are not in… any pain? Honest?”_

Sans shivered a breath, his fingers still latched into Grillby’s shirt. “m’honest. my head feels… full? uh, i dunno… please? c’n you check…?”

Seized by more sympathy pains, the fire monster adjusted his hold on Sans so he could better look him in the face. His expression was grave, the embers just under the surface blazing with a jagged auburn density that would’ve made Sans feel worse if he could see it. Grillby examined the fine lines of Sans’ skull and how they flowed a muted blue, slowly warming and shifting into the gold that spilled from his eye sockets in steady rivulets.

As much as it made him feel physically ill, Grillby hooked his finger into the side of Sans’ dead eye, careful to keep his heat from affecting anything inside. Instead, he forced a small curl of light to form down, and he drew in a shaky breath.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d looked into the pits of Sans’ eye sockets, though this time was a little stranger. Instead of the magic void beyond, networks of pith strung up and around inside like webs. They were soaked with sticky, sickly yellow, coating the inside of Sans’ skull with painted gold and a splash of cyan.

When Sans drew in a shuddering breath, the synapses of his leys, tangled in all the oily slick, lit up like electricity. They only calmed again when the liquid in his skull moved with the loll of Sans’ head. Grillby bit down on the side of his mouth, fire creeping along his fingers to inspect for any damage, for anything to explore for as long as it was able to. Nothing strange. Perhaps this is what the magical void hid and he was seeing the true inside of Sans’ skull.

His fire didn’t know what to call this, other than the liquid was not flammable, nor was it extinguishing. It rocked slowly in the cavity, filling, until its surface breached the rims of Sans’ eye sockets and trickled out again. Then the skeleton would give in to a short whimper, the feeling no less frightening.

“what’s it look like…?” he huffed quietly, his voice strained with discomfort.

Grillby tilted his head a little so he could look more directly into Sans’ skull. Sans made a muted noise, one of partial surprise and discomfort. Phalanges gripped onto his shirt for dear life, though Sans was oddly cooperative. His movements slowed a little when Grillby tilted him back, cradling Sans’ head in the crook of his arm. Despite the angle, more ochre tears slid from Sans’ eyes.

Grillby noted little scrapes and scores along the interior of Sans’ skull, little chips and pores that were soaked right to the marrow - or what he had assumed it was. Immediately, the fire monster recalled the way Sans had merrily chipped away at the debris in his face, left behind by the gunk and silt of the marsh when he’d taken his tumble in Waterfall.

Somehow, the scrapes looked like tally marks, bored into bone, circles and lines hidden out of view for even him to see. Shakily, he drew in a breath to peer further, his movement causing the liquid in Sans’ skull to pool over the spot.

Sans’ body suddenly jolted like it’d been struck, causing Grillby to start back and examine him. Then, slowly in the distance, came a horrifying noise, reminding him of the small tinny rush after a television was turned off. It sounded far too familiar for just that and it grew in volume, overhead lights clicking off, a mass shutdown of power. With it, the ambient light over Snowdin and the false dawn went out like a puff of smoke.

Knowing the result of such a trip, Grillby froze, his flames lowering and forming hard peaks of jagged light.

_“…Sans!?”_

Grillby searched his face, everything inside of him on the very verge of panic. He unhooked his thumb from Sans’ orbit, moving it to cup the side of his face, to hold him as carefully as he could. Then without thinking, Grillby gave him a light shake to rouse him. The liquid pooled out from the dip in Sans’ posture, lax and unnerving, strings cut and unresponsive. Even his breaths had become a mere shadow of what he was.

Grillby looked around him for his phone, discarded once he’d seen Sans wobble on the chair. It lay a few feet away, and it took the fire monster a few achingly slow seconds to realise just how much of the golden oil had spilled around them.

God, he felt sick. He prayed that it wasn’t blood, wasn’t magic, wasn’t the lifeforce keeping Sans together, spilled all over his kitchen like a murder scene-

His chest tight, Grillby carefully set Sans down on the floor, keeping a hand free to cup behind the skeleton’s head. He didn’t know if the liquid should stay or if it should be drained, but he wasn’t going to try anything without a proper doctor’s instruction. Even though his hands shook, Grillby reached over, his pant leg soaking up what was spilled on the floor, making the fire along his body lick at it with curiosity.

He didn’t even register grabbing his phone, doing it so automatically that when he heard Papyrus’ voice suddenly in his head, Grillby could only emit a few distressed snaps and fizzes. He tried again, not quite understanding what Papyrus was saying, or how worried he was making him as a result.

_“--pyrus..?”_

He sobbed in frustration, clutching the phone in his hand as Sans’ lifeless sockets welled up again with golden tears. Grillby’s eyes brimmed as he saw a trickle of cyan magic taint the gold. It mixed together not unlike oil in water, a vague mix that never quite blended together. Instead, the hues contested with each other, and Grillby scrambled closer to hold his face upwards, to keep it from bleeding out.

_‘Hang on! Got you. Protect--love--don’t give up--so sorry--should have called sooner-don’t leave--’_

Distantly, Grillby heard Papyrus’ voice from the receiver again, jarring and insistent between his stammering gasps.

“--…-NEED--TO--COME--……--CAPITAL!!” 

Grillby gathered a large wellspring of magic from within him, surging down his arms and covering Sans’ eye sockets to pour healing magic into him. It made a rough hiccough stick in his chest, pressure building up in his core as he tried everything that he could think of to keep Sans from slipping away from him.

“PLEASE--GRILLBY, PLEASE WHAT’S HAP--” The connection dropped there.

_‘Lost him.’_

Grillby shivered a panicked breath, his fingers closing over Sans’ eyes, desperate to keep him from leaking any more. He felt a kickback of magic, one that surged into the very core of him, burning alive and hot as he pushed back with equal force.

A jumpstart, to get Sans’ magic flowing again. He wasn’t weak, but Grillby didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t _fathom_ what had sprung it, but he knew he couldn’t possibly do this on his own.

On top of concerned for the one he loved, Grillby was now too afraid to move Sans. This wasn’t like when he’d fallen unconscious in the glade in Waterfall. This was more serious than the burned blackout Sans had been in after his rebound.

The ochre tickled at his fingertips, not quite warm, not quite hot. The heat sunk away and with the sensation, Grillby’s soul quickened, unable to control the distraught noise that escaped him at its loss. A loss of heat meant things were going very, very _wrong._

 _“No-”_ he said quickly, unable to keep himself from shaking. _“No, no, no, no, Sans, please, no--wake up, wa… e up, wake, please!!”_

Distantly, the thrum of mechanics came back online. It slow and arduous as Grillby frantically tried to get Sans to be responsive, pushing healing magic into his skull and even into his breastbone. With it, the electricity that fed into Grillby’s bar hummed to life, reset by the outage, and as it progressed, Sans’ head lolled to one side under his hands seemingly awakened. Grillby could feel the inside of Sans’ skull well up to his palms and he knew it was the only thing keeping it inside.

The cell phone picked up a fair amount of static, hungry in its need to connect to every call in the area. Grillby’s soul hammered as fast as it’d ever been before, and it brought on the tightening sensation that this might be his only chance.

Carefully, Grillby pulled a hand away from Sans’ face, the hazy look of eye lights not quite summoned, not quite there replacing his hand. Behind them was a vessel too full to contain, but miraculously Sans’ current position didn’t allow for any drop to be spilled. Apprehensive, Grillby slowly backed away. He was so scared for what was going on, for what he could’ve done, that he was unsure of what he’d need to do in order to get him to New Home.

The dial tone was abrupt and he started, flames hiking up only to soothe down once more. Grillby didn’t take a moment to calm down, merely stumbled up to his feet, careful not to disturb Sans in his quest to find something to contain the overflow.

Though his body didn’t absorb magic or dirt the way monsters normally did, his clothes were soaked and soiled. He didn’t have time to think about it for any length of time now that he had a goal in mind, so Grillby placed pillows and cushions around Sans and got dressed for travel. A frantic search through his messy and overflowing closet turned up with a sheet that would keep Sans relatively warm throughout the ferry ride. He recalled that Sans had once complained about frost, and if the liquid froze along the way, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

He was getting ahead of himself. Grillby swiped over his flames, stoking them even as he drew in a deep breath. With himself taken care of, Grillby did up Sans’ jacket, wrapped some cloths around his hazy eyes. Grillby murmured reassurances to Sans that he was safe, that he’d _keep_ him safe, and that he was bringing him to his brother. Sans only made a nonsensical noise in reply, but at least he appeared awake.

His soul still hammering, Grillby held the sheet to his body to infuse it with fire magic, then covered and wrapped Sans with it to keep him warm throughout their journey. Even though he took care to speak to Sans throughout, Grillby found that he didn’t know what to say. It was a lot of meaningless things.

_‘I’ll protect you. Keep you safe. I don’t know what’s happening, but we’re getting help. Papyrus is waiting in New Home. He said for me to bring you. I love you. I’ll keep you close. You’ll be safe with me. Stay with me.’_

Grillby blathered to himself, probably not even in a dialect that anyone else would understand, but it soothed in a way that Grillby just had to reinforce. Sans was nearly catatonic; he relied solely on _him._ It was a lot of responsibility, but it was something that Grillby took up without a second thought, to gather Sans in his arms and right him up to test the binds covering Sans’ eye sockets.

The cloth bled a little, but the majority of the liquid remained. It didn’t even leak from Sans’ teeth or nasal aperture, which was a relief. Grillby held him tight, hugging Sans and whispering against his skull that he’d be alright and to not be afraid.

Even though Sans wasn’t responsive, Grillby took care not to mention any doctors. He’d learned what they meant to Sans, piece by piece, and he didn’t want to subject Sans to any more stress than he already was. It took Grillby awhile to calm himself, then to creep out into the early snowy morning via the fire exit. He was cautious to keep out of sight as he beelined north of town to catch the first ferry.

Thankfully, the river person was there and no one else was about. Grillby held Sans against his body, the added weight in Sans’ skull testing his balance. Though Sans’ breathing was soft, it still gusted against Grillby’s flames in an echo of their earlier journey. Grillby just prayed to whatever merciful gods there were that day that the waters would behave themselves.

The river person took a moment to survey the two of them, but they didn’t say anything to the way Grillby held Sans close to his chest, wavering as he balanced off the bank and into the boat. He shuddered, flames receding inward to curl between him and Sans, keeping them both warm. Then he requested audibly, all nerves and quiet fear; _“New Home.”_

It didn’t even register to Grillby that the river person could’ve denied him, since his destination wasn’t one that would normally be requested. Regardless, he settled in and stayed vigil, pouring heat in lieu of comfort so Sans could rest easy on the way there.

Though the trip was long, Grillby kept a paranoid watch for any tricksters or prank masters lurking in the dark around them. Every time something fell from the ceiling, he flinched and ducked his charge under his chin.

Grillby’s entire body quivered with the sound of falling water, frightened for the last ferry ride they’d taken together and how his hand still felt off from time to time. A drop or two from higher up on the caverns fell onto his jacket, but other than that, his thoughts were solely upon Sans.

Sans, who remained quiet in his arms, his breaths soft and calmer than Grillby would’ve suspected from anyone undergoing such an ordeal. He thought back to the synapses in Sans’ skull before the liquid had pooled against them, extinguishing the lights for a moment before it flared up to life again. It made Grillby think of water touching the filaments in light bulbs, the brief snap of electricity, then the quiet luminescence that followed.

He feared for him when the power surged and had gone out, just as Sans’ body had seized. And he didn’t know how to explain it beyond ‘this is what happened when Sans pushed himself’. But had he? Sans had just been resting at his apartment, eating breakfast. He’d been morose, jostled from a fugue, triggered by some unknown trauma.

He certainly hoped that he could recall everything when he met up with Papyrus. The poor man had been shaking like a leaf before he left, citing answers, and here Grillby was, giving him only more questions. When he attempted to call Papyrus, there was no dial tone, which only made Grillby worry more for Sans.

He hoped that Papyrus had something to call this, though he wasn’t sure that he’d ever heard of any monster emitting such a dangerous-looking amount of… magic?

If he approached it critically, Grillby could distance himself from the horror so it didn’t hurt as much. If he named the leys ‘synapses’ and not call the oily unknown substance ‘magical bleed out’, he could assess it more easily. Even though the sting of Waterfall and its likeness surrounded him at every bend, humidity steaming in the air, Grillby drew in as much magic as he safely could and fed it into Sans, healing with all the hopes and prayers that lay within him.

When it came time to pay, Grillby shuffled in one pocket for coins, holding Sans to his chest like something precious. That’s when he noted the river person’s hood give a few slow turns. Their sleeve raised, their appendage unseen, as though to gesture that payment was not required this time.

Grillby’s soul could have burst right then, but he thanked them in the spindly way his fire offered, snapping and crisply accentuating consonants so he was an incoherent mess. Tears ashed at his eyes, steam fogged his glasses, and Sans hung limply against his chest as he disembarked from the craft.

The grey rock face that sprawled up the streets from the ferry stop clouded his vision into a sea of relief and tears, especially when he felt Sans stir against him. He held onto him tightly, feeling Sans’ fingers flex into his jacket. Grillby’s breath sharpened on every inhale as everything became a bit too much, overwhelmed by what was to come.

Forcefully, the fire monster buried his face between Sans’ shoulder and neck, his arms encircling him a bit more as he muttered, his voice raw and aching with relief; _“Safe and sound. It’s a promise.”_

And with it, he felt Sans’ body sink against him, as though Grillby had been so wound tight that he didn’t sense how tense Sans had been the entire time. Sans made a bitten-off sound, half-swallowed and sore. It sounded like an apology, whispered humidly against his cheek. It also sounded like a thank you, and Grillby just hung back to the side, holding Sans in his arms like he’d never let him go.

Grillby ended up pushing himself in order to find Papyrus. Hours into his search, his legs were weary and his adrenaline had waned. He wound through tightly packed streets, ignoring the looks of concerned passers-by. Grillby kept an assuring presence for Sans, stroking over the skeleton’s back where he held him, firm and comforting.

Sans occasionally made a few sounds of protest, speaking more with his body than actual words. At times, he’d grow tense again and Grillby could feel Sans’ bones jostle against him, then he’d murmur something to calm him. Sans would sink against him, too afraid to nod, but huffing in resigned acknowledgement anyway.

The narrow cobblestone streets soon turned to back alleys when the crowds grew thicker as the day progressed. Grillby was of a mind to go to the nearest healer, though Sans would’ve protested about that. Grillby had been trusted with his secret, and it’d been a long time since Sans chose to desert the place in favour of finding a new home in Snowdin. He couldn’t betray that trust when Sans was at his mercy.

So Grillby resigned himself to search for Papyrus as he had originally intended. He paused in a closed off street where rebuilding was taking place, and the throng of people in and around the market stalls was too loud for his liking.

Grillby had to take a moment for himself, exhausted. He leaned against the wall of a stone building while his soul pulsed and strained to catch up with him. Every one of his breaths burned, but as though there was less fuel or magic in the air to sustain him.

“ok..?”

Grillby nuzzled Sans against his body, holding him protectively. At least he felt warm. At least he was whole. Grillby could tell by the way Sans’ hands tangled into his clothes that his ‘dead’ arm was still attached and both of Sans’ legs hung at his side. His voice was soft, but it rasped with an achy lilt that sounded like Sans had slept for far too long.

Grillby looked down to Sans’ face, his eyes obstructed by the cloth. Sans’ grin was tight, half-pulled in the same way Grillby knew that he was extremely uncomfortable and was simply enduring whatever he was put through. The fire monster managed to sink down to the ground, cradling Sans against him so he sat between his legs.

Grillby felt his body immediately flood with relief when Sans unhooked a hand from his jacket and raised it to his own face, as though to tug off the blindfold. Grillby quickly stopped him, hand taking his wrist, and Sans’ grin hardened in a worried line.

“grill..?”

 _“Am fine,”_ the fire monster confirmed belatedly, nearly breathlessly with how relieved he was. _“I’m here.”_

A rivulet of relief flooded over Sans’ body. Though he trembled uncontrollably, Sans released a stuttered, shaky sigh.

“i don’t know what’s goin’ on,” he muttered, his voice threadbare and tight. “i thought we were in your apartment..? what… how did we get from there to here?”

Grillby drew in a few deep breaths. It felt like the weight in his chest had finally abated, replaced by Sans’ conscious thoughts.

“you made me breakfast… and i was feeling like shit,” Sans went over it, looking like he was trying not to tremble so much. Grillby smoothed the flat of his palm over Sans’ chest, pulsing a warm thin trickle of healing magic. With it, Sans inhaled a sharper breath, as though caught by surprise. “i’m… i’m trying not to freak out,” he said, honesty raw in his voice.

 _“Not sure how to explain,”_ Grillby said, his voice low and weary, but oh so relieved. _“Saw inside your skull. Golden water everywhere, but it did not harm me. Unsure to let it out. When I had moved you-”_ The fire monster hesitated, but now wasn’t the time for him to hang up on the details. He could almost see the way Sans swallowed with apprehension, like he was bracing himself for something bad. The dry click was almost deafening.

He wouldn’t be wrong.

_“Like… when you lost consciousness. In Waterfall. Suddenly dark. No response. This time, spilling gold magic everywhere, I.. I panicked, was so worried, I… cell phone, once the service returned, and… yrus instructed me, come here-”_

Sans hushed him softly, blindly reaching out to seat himself easier in Grillby’s arms. He unlatched his hands and brought them around the fire monster’s torso, holding him carefully. He was met with another one of Grillby’s tight embraces, wrenching a soft grunt from him like it made every bone in his body ache. Grillby eased up, but Sans held him tighter, forcing the ache to continue.

“i don’t know if i’m ok,” Sans mumbled truthfully. Then he laughed, because the only other option was to cry. “i’m prob’ly not. i-” He stopped to swallow again, sounding almost pained. “i probably need to get checked out.”

Grillby knew how much of a big deal that was for Sans. Sans, who was vehement beyond all reason to refuse medical advice, doctor visits and even flinched when Grillby healed him for the first time in Hotland. He understood the odd little flinch now; it wasn’t particularly because Sans was sensitive as he’d originally thought, but that Grillby had forced healing magic into his body.

Sans had pleaded for no more medicine, as though he had little to no choice in the matter in the past. So Grillby could understand, if his suspicions were correct, how hard it was for Sans to give in. It took a lot for Sans to give in and concede that he needed help. And the first bid to aid him would be to find his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:**  
>  [[Grillby comes back to Sans having a seizure, leaking gold from his eyes, Sans is scared but holding together and asks what it is. It's not blood or magic as far as Grillby can tell and he tells Sans as much. The 'bleed out' is pretty much constant but Sans is guided down so Grillby can check at his request, where Grillby can see tally marks and web like synapses coated in the foreign substance. When he moves Sans to get a better look, the liquid pools over the scores in Sans' skull and he has a seizure and the power goes out. Grillby has a panic attack while trying to both call Papyrus and heal Sans as much as he can, while also trying to keep the liquid from spilling out. He doesn't know what it is but he's scared and not thinking. Papyrus tells him (as the convo in the previous chapter goes) to go to New Home before the phone connection cuts out.
> 
> Then Sans comes back to consciousness but barely, his eye lights back but his skull is filled with the golden liquid, and Grillby sets about getting changed and ready to take Sans to New Home via the ferry. The river person allows him to request New Home since Papyrus paid for it before, and Grillby is basically by himself the entire time. The river person doesn't charge for the ride since they've already been paid.
> 
> Then, because Grillby is emotional and has little support, he has a cry while trying to calm down with Sans in his arms, and he searches the streets for Papyrus because they didn't get to arrange a rendezvous point before the connection cut out on their call. And Sans wakes up, groggy and relatively ok, Grillby is relieved but manages to get a hold of himself while Sans concedes that he needs to see someone about this sudden condition of his. Grillby has thoughts that connect to when Sans was recalling past medical trauma and thinks Sans must've endured abuse at sometime in the past, hence his fear of doctors. Chapter ends with that thought.]]
> 
> This chapter is late because it was a mess and I had to edit it a lot haha :D Enjoy!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hidden in the side streets of New Home, Grillby guides an ill Sans out of the way to the clinic, where Sans concedes to go. The gold ochre liquid continues to erupt and something important disappears, leaving the two stunned and afraid. A stressed Grillby is told Sans' symptoms, as Sans tells him he won't be responsive near doctors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning(s):** body horror, eye trauma, nausea and vomiting, health negotiation

As much as Sans was a stubborn fool some days, Grillby could at least handle it then. Now, he was forced to allow Sans to stand on his own. He wasn’t weak, no, Sans vehemently denied that, but he was dizzy and off-balanced, like his skull was still filled with liquid. When the fire monster got close, almost hovering, Sans kept a hand on him - both to steady himself and to keep the fire monster from picking him up.

So while Grillby wasn’t able to visually inspect for himself, the fires that crept along the back of Sans’ neck whispered something of fullness, like there wasn’t enough space to go inside or between the bones there. It was that despite all the emptiness between the bones where fire could creep in, _it was already occupied._

Grillby suppressed a shudder but kept an arm out for Sans to hold. Reluctantly, as his balance was unsure, Sans latched onto his arm. It was a comfort to know that Sans was stubborn enough to insist upon that, but it still concerned Grillby that the power had gone out, even if it had only been brief. It didn’t mean that he instantly thought of Sans’ singular HP, but it reminded him of all the times the power went out when Sans pushed himself past his limits…

Grillby didn’t know what to think of it.

They kept to the back streets and alleys to prevent attracting too much attention. It was the best recourse, as Sans’ front was soaked with foreign magic. Instinctively, Sans kept the blanket around him to protect himself from view, while Grillby secured the cloth covering Sans’ orbits to ensure that nothing leaked. It didn’t have a smell, just a bitter quality that clung to Sans like grease.

_At least it didn’t smell like a burn._

Sans’ steps were slow and unsteady but very careful. The cobblestones that jutted up here and there made him stumble more often than not, and Sans was relieved when Grillby caught him when Sans’ reflexes weren’t fast enough to catch his balance a time or two.

His soul thundered, throbbing in his chest every time he nudged at his HP. It happened every time Sans sent a Check to it, to verify what his values were. And every time Sans was met with a vague but painless throb, like he’d swallowed too much too quickly and his magic had a difficult time absorbing it all.

He didn’t know what was happening. It certainly had never happened before, that’s for damned sure. He couldn’t see much, only a blur of hazy gold behind the cloth, distant and smouldering in his good socket. It didn’t hurt; it was just _intrusive._ He couldn’t help but hope that they’d meet up with Papyrus soon.

“so,” he started after a long break of silence, as nonchalantly as Sans was able to sound under duress. “doctors.”

Grillby’s hold on him firmed a little, as though he just _knew._ Sans had to internally scoff at himself, hating the way that he’d started to tremble at the mere mention of the word. It wasn’t as though doctors lurked in dark alleyways and around sharp corners. He knew better than that.

Grillby surprised him. _“I know.”_

Sans swallowed, carefully avoiding the liquid pooling down the back of his mouth. Leave it to Grillby to catch him off guard, even when he felt like he was falling apart. _Especially_ when he literally was.

“oh.” Sans’ reply was soft, but he must’ve tensed, as Grillby’s hand covered the one that Sans had hooked around the crook of the fire monster’s arm. The gesture was so simple, but Sans felt a small but honest bloom of comfort flood into him. God, he was lucky. Wretchedly unfortunate, but lucky to have Grillby all the same. That small gesture filled him with warmth, kindling another soft throb inside of his soul.

Grimacing with the uncomfortable sensation, Sans paused and rubbed at his chest.

As though Grillby took care to watch every move he made, the fire monster enquired, _“Pain?”_

Sans shook his head and waited for the feeling to subside. It didn’t last long, maybe the time it took to regenerate HP on anyone else, Sans compared obliquely. Or maybe it was because, long ago in the distant past, he was keenly aware of the sensation. Once it passed, he gave his sternum another rub and pulled Grillby closer to him, as though to make sure the fire monster didn’t drift away.

“i think i’m just getting anxious,” he finally replied a little tersely. “not being able to see really, uh… blindsided me.”

_“Sans…”_

The corner of Sans’ mouth quirked with the admonishing tone, though he knew it’d soothe some of Grillby’s worries if nothing else. Urgingly, Sans leaned against the fire monster’s arm to get him to start moving again. He was solely reliant on him. Sans didn’t like it, but he had little choice. The main difference now compared to before was that Sans trusted Grillby fully.

 _“You had… said that you never visited therapists,”_ the fire monster continued, his voice far calmer and quiet. Sans tensed, but nodded shortly, keeping his teeth clenched shut. _“Even before you and your brother had… relocated to Snowdin. Were there no yearly checkups?”_

Sans swallowed nervously, seeing a flash in his memory like a dying light bulb. He envisioned the bright room with the single cot and the white cupboard again, and waiting alone until someone came to get him. Sometimes the waits would take forever, and sometimes he’d barely be sat upon the crinkly paper on the cot when a doctor would come in, clipboard in hand.

Confusion sparked within Sans, as he never felt scared during those moments. In fact, he rarely recalled them at all. His extended silence must’ve worried Grillby, since he’d stopped leading him and settled his free hand, warm and lush, over Sans’ shoulder

 _“Too far?”_ Grillby said it as though he was genuinely concerned that it was too prying, so Sans forced himself to relax.

“nah,” Sans said, noting a steadiness to his voice that he didn’t feel. Instead, it was as though the entire time the air around him continuously vibrated at a low frequency, ready to surge at any moment. It made the walk harrowing and nearly suffocating.

“sorry, uh. was thinking about something. no, no, i… don’t think i did?” Sans paused, unsure. Mercifully, the memories of being held down and his soul being cupped by a foreign touch were sparse.

He tried to line up the events in his head, but they balanced high above him, detached and out of reach. All he could focus on was the steady _plip plip plip_ of liquid pattering onto cloth. He exhaled a shuddering breath, the swell of magic inside of Sans making his soul heavy and warm. It was unpleasant, so Sans rubbed at his ribs with a grimace.

 _“Can you still walk?”_ Even as Grillby questioned him, Sans inhaled sharply with his warm touch. Grillby’s hand carefully snuck past the blanket to lay over his chest where it ached the most. Sans bit back a groan of protest, but he didn’t move away. Then there was a gentle pulse of healing magic as well as a small Check. His HP rested at 1, same as usual.

And then the bar disappeared entirely, replaced by emptiness.

Sans felt the lilting throb down to the centre of his being, his brow pinching together as a drawing sensation pulled at his soul. He hunched over and held onto the fire monster, a wave of mindless, aimless discomfort welling up inside of him. The cloth wasn’t enough to hold back the disgusting slick of oil that built up behind the makeshift blindfold and Sans could feel it welling up to the rims of his eyes and trickling down every vertebrae of his neck.

“u-uh, g.. grillby?” he started, his soul shuddering and thumping harder as a wave of dread hit him. “it’s ha.. happening again-”

Grillby’s hold on him tightened and he closed the distance between them. Sans didn’t argue when he was picked up this time, straddling Grillby’s hips with his legs as the fire monster held his body to his own. The small whispers of fire surrounded him, enquiring and curious. No worries, only confusion, though it was different than how Grillby felt underneath him.

His body was rigid, though Grillby walked quickly and with purpose. Sans didn’t realise that he couldn’t close his eyes until he tried to squeeze them shut, worried for how the fluids would affect his friend. He kept his arms around Grillby’s neck, hooking his fingers together to keep himself from falling.

Not that he thought Grillby would drop him. He wasn’t careless. He was careful. He was keeping together for him, when he was falling apart, spilling magic in disgusting trails down the back of Grillby’s coat.

Heels on cobblestone clacked in the narrowing spaces in his skull, so much it had little to echo through. Sans’ head felt heavy again and he had the urge to warn Grillby that he felt like he’d be sick. He somehow kept it down, even though he could distinctly feel the way the liquid lapped at the insides of his skull.

He hadn’t been aware the last time he’d passed out. It had been a sharp, abrupt silence, relief when Sans needed it. With Grillby’s hasty movements to seek the nearest clinic, the contents of his head made a thick froth, fizzing up the sides and soaking the synapses keeping his magic intact.

Sans felt ill. Not just emotionally drained either, but like he had to get rid of the fluid. Every time Grillby took a turn or briskly apologised under his breath, Sans barely managed to keep his grip on Grillby’s coat, no matter how much he bade his fingers to hold on. Sans’ body quivered as the oily waters touched upon something in his head, making his mind blank out and his body fall slack.

_God, he was so scared._

Sans poured what he could into Grillby, blindly searching for help. Instead of comfort, he picked up on Grillby’s emotions from how close they were. Sans had expected the fire monster to be calm, to exude safety and warmth. But all that he could feel at that moment was sheer panic and fear, a sweltering heat that steadily inclined the further it went on.

Grillby was just as afraid as he was.

He cared enough to bleed helplessness, panic and fear as the trickle of healing magic enveloped Sans’ soul. Though his eyes were covered, Sans felt the hot prickle of shame and tears seeped into the already soaked fabric.

Grillby’s hands were strong against his back, arms holding him tightly around his body and hooked under Sans’ rear to keep him up. The heat of his flames curled against the side of Sans’ face, searching for a way inside, to comfort and console them both.

Sans always felt it peculiar how the byproduct fires of Grillby’s body had their own sentience, though it was comforting that they didn’t appear to panic. They were calm, controlled, most of the heat coming from Grillby’s core at the centre of his body. It made Sans detached from the situation, oddly relaxed.

Relaxed even though his HP had been bumped someplace out of view. Sans had learned to block his HP from being read, but it was always available to him to view. Now there wasn’t anything, and Sans couldn’t fathom why.

Maybe this was what years of pushing it when he should’ve done more to take care of himself did. Then maybe he should’ve went to Alphys’ more often. He should’ve listened to Papyrus, done a few crunches even though the floor hurt his spine.

Or maybe this is what happened when he ignored his body for too long, and he’d overdone it, and that was it. It could mean any other amount of things, and if Sans had the clarity to think about it, he would’ve remembered Alphys’ advice about out-letting his magic a bit more often than he had been.

His mouth was far too wet. Sans made a soft noise and turned his head away from Grillby as best as he was able to. The sound he made was awful and was apparently enough warning, as Grillby stopped and clumsily let him down.

“i’m not…” Sans mumbled hazily, then ducked his head down, crouched on the cool cobblestones. Grillby stooped beside him, a hand hot on Sans’ back as his ribs heaved in protest. Cyan swirled with the foreign magic when Sans spat, his shoulders shaking with the strain. “fuck.”

Grillby rubbed his back, insecurities bleeding out of him and into Sans. He wondered if the fire monster realised what he was doing. Whatever it was, it made him feel worse and Sans couldn’t hold back from retching onto the road with a ragged sob.

There wasn’t a lot, but it was concerning nonetheless. Grillby soothed him as best as he was able to and rubbed over his back. The longer Sans just stayed on the ground and breathed, the more he was able to calm. Tentatively, the fire monster’s breath shuddered, reciprocating how Sans felt.

After a few minutes of gauging his perception to figure out where they were, Sans coughed and wiped over his mouth with his sleeve. They had to be far enough from any crowds not to garner attention, otherwise Sans imagined that there’d be a lot more talking and probably yelling. Of course, he didn’t know that his innate magic was bleeding into the gold that poured from his eyes; he was at whatever mercy Grillby offered him.

“are we close?”

Grillby looked around him, still keeping his hand on Sans’ back. _“Very.”_

Sans pointedly fixated on the way Grillby’s voice shook, as though he was on the verge of going into hysterics. It twisted at his soul, tugging at every feeling that it was his fault that Grillby was worried. He was _scaring_ him, and that meant that Sans had to be stronger than he felt. On the other hand, Sans used the fire monster’s body to haul himself up, unsteady and swaying where he stood.

He didn’t know which direction to go, but it didn’t matter. When he couldn’t see, he was at Grillby’s mercy.

“h-hang in there, grillbz,” Sans said, his voice as comforting as he was able to be. A bitter taste remained in his mouth, like ash or something worse. He didn’t want to fixate on it. Instead, he pulled Grillby close to him and held onto him tightly, steering into the fire monster’s body as though to lead the way. Grillby seemed to take the hint, though there was something else to the tension in his body that made Sans’ soul squeeze painfully.

At least, it wasn’t pain in the traditional sense. If Sans had been in pain, that would’ve been something he could handle. He could deal with its familiarity, he could block it out if he needed to, but the throbbing in his soul, the twist in his leys, the eerie feeling of water filling every cavity in his body - _that,_ Sans didn’t know how to process.

That, and the blackouts. The missing HP bar.

He couldn’t dwell on it too much. He had to keep strong. He mentally slapped himself for dumping this all on Grillby, whom Sans felt shaking, his fires licking against his skull when Grillby bent down. Grillby was gentle, was already stretched out thin as far as stress went. He knew Grillby was doing his best to be by his side, and Sans appreciated it more than anything.

“you doin’ ok, hun?” Sans asked quietly, though not without sincerity. “and don’t you dare deflect.”

 _“Deflection is your commitment, not-”_ Grillby said tersely, his voice still shaking. _“I am… holding together. Though I am so, so afraid right now.”_

His tone and the way Grillby’s voice wavered threatened a raw emotion to curl up inside of Sans. He felt the bite of tears at his eyes and automatically raised a hand to wipe over them, finding the cloth that he was starting to detest so much. He choked back the way his voice wanted to come out, tight and emphatic.

“i know. me too, buddy.” Nicknames and pet names rolled easily off his tongue, but Sans was starting to shake again. “we, uh. gotta call papyrus. tell `im, i’m… i made the decision to--to see someone.” He stopped, the words trapped in his false throat. “a doctor.”

Again, like an echo from earlier, Grillby replied, _“I know,”_ though his voice broke a little.

Tears slipped into the cloth from Sans’ eyes and he tensed, twisting the fistful of paisley blanket in his hand like it would save him from crying in public. “don’t cry, man, you know it just makes me do it too.”

There was a hasty shuffle from his side, where Grillby’s free hand hung around him. Sans thought that maybe the fire monster was wiping away his tears.

“i’m a good copycat. kinda have a skeleton key for that kind of thing, heh,” Sans muttered, his voice still tight. Grillby drew in a breath like it was the first he had taken since they’d arrived. “hey. hey, c’mon, it’ll be ok.”

 _“You don’t know that,”_ Grillby choked, helpless.

Sans swallowed thickly. “no, but i’m selfish and i want it to be ok. so i think it will be. that’s what hope is all about, right? cruising through bullshit situations until the dust settles?”

He felt Grillby tense very suddenly and Sans grimaced, pained. “ok. very bad choice of words. listen, just `cause i don’t have an hp bar right now, don’t mean i’m gonna die.” In fact, oddly enough, now that the liquid had spilled out more, Sans thought he felt a little better. Either that, or vomiting in the street did. Quietly, he added, “it’s not like this when a person falls down, trust me.” If he could, Sans would’ve winked, so he grinned instead. It almost felt real, but he was telling the truth. “take it from a guy who knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

Another vague sort of shuffle, then Grillby’s voice broke on a flare of words, too upset to be coherent. Still, Sans was able to understand him thanks to all the time they’d spent in each other’s company.

_‘I’m so afraid.’_

It hurt to be scared for so much, but Sans sought down the length of Grillby’s arm for his hand and grasped it firmly with his own. His jaw set in a firm line, his head filled with thoughts and worries about everything, Sans concentrated on consoling his boyfriend as best as he could. Fingers intertwined with his own and clung tightly with his stiff phalanges, desperate to seek comfort. He was never one to be able to comfort, but he could stand by and be a reassuring presence.

Which he realised that he couldn’t even be that. Sans ignored the sounds of liquid trickling down his vertebrae, trying not to envision a wash of cyan, or worse: _red._

He hung onto that feeling. All Sans could see was a world painted in gold, bloomed out like chlorine in an over-saturated pool. He drew in a shallow breath as the worry persisted, knowing he couldn’t bullshit his way out of addressing it all when they reached the clinic.

Again he swallowed, this time unable to avoid absorbing a little of the foreign magic. It made the inside of his ribs flare up with tiny prickles, itching just under the marrow.

“can i ask a favour, buddy?”

Something within Sans’ chest squeezed again when Grillby’s fingers clutched at him tightly. Sans decided to be blunt for once, distracted by the intense need to purge.

“i’m gonna… i’m not gonna be able to collect my thoughts. y’know, uh,” here, Sans couldn’t help the sharp little laugh that tumbled from his mouth, all tight and nervous. Unconsciously, he tightly squeezed back at Grillby’s hand. “in there,” he added, his voice small.

Grillby nodded even though Sans couldn’t see. Instead, he grasped his hand while Grillby attempted to collect himself. The bare sniff and wipe over his face betrayed him just as much as the smell of burning cloth did.

 _“I understand,”_ Grillby murmured, his tone strained with emotion.

“i know i ask a lot of you,” Sans continued, his voice shaking, “and maybe this is a lot to bear, but i really appreciate it.”

 _“Sans, please. It is nothing that I am not offering,”_ Grillby gently reprimanded with a stiff embrace.

Sans had to grin at that, otherwise he’d break down again. He pressed on. “man… i’m no good with doctors. alphys doesn’t count, not really, she’s more a friend than that. but strangers poking and prodding at me-”

Sans’ breaths became shuddered and Grillby pulled him closer, pressed up against his body to the stifling heat. Heat was good. Sans pushed his face against Grillby’s chest, feeling the dense thrum of healing magic pour into him. While he appreciated the sentiment, Sans knew that Grillby needed all the strength he could get.

“people here give up easy. don’t take an apology for an answer. they… they’ll refuse to help me, i just know it, but i won’t be able to say my s.. symptoms.”

Grillby laid his hand over the back of Sans’ neck, holding him close like if he let go, Sans wouldn’t be able to stand upright on his own. He wasn’t weak, but he was helpless. He wasn’t Falling Down. He wasn’t Hopeless.

_“I will always be here for you. Tell me.”_

A wellspring of emotion surged up within Sans with the promise. His arms wrapped around Grillby, only imagining what they looked like, in some back alley promising devotion to each other like a couple of young fools.

“i’m… i’m really susceptible to intent right now,” Sans started after an uneasy swallow. “all i can feel is how scared you are and when we get too close to someone, i can’t tell if… if it’s me angry at them, or them angry at me, or something else-”

Subconsciously, Sans recoiled at the thought of the _something else_ being inside of him.

“i feel sick,” Sans continued with far too wet of a swallow. “every time whatever’s in my head leaks out and i get a taste, i just feel nauseous. if it comes out, i feel dizzy, but i feel better after. i dunno if it’s supposed to be there or not, i…” He made another wretched sound, doubling over.

Thank whatever gods there were that Grillby caught him. Thank whatever merciful soul that was looking after him, and curse the one that thought this was a great idea. Grillby helped him to lower down to his knees, Sans’ breaths catching, his mouth watering threateningly. Tears brimmed at his eyes, seeping into the cloth as Sans held back a pathetic sob.

_It tasted like medicine._

He started to feel exhausted by the time Grillby pulled him up again. Sans stood, legs shaky, his back bowed and his arms heavy. He sobbed a meagre apology, knowing that it wouldn’t nearly be enough. He didn’t know how, but he’d wrecked it. He’d put too much of a strain on their relationship. Grillby was still scared, but now thanks to Sans’ words, he was repressing it because he knew Sans felt guilty and helpless.

Sans could feel it, the tiny little beats coming from Grillby’s flames, pounding out a subtle tattoo of reassurance between the pinches of fright and concern. He allowed himself to soak up the comfort as Grillby pulled him up again, holding him close.

“hp’s gone but i can’t see it,” the skeleton added softly, his voice feeling raw from the strain. “i guess you can’t, huh?”

He felt a gentle probe against his soul and Sans grimaced, a swirl of vertigo pushing him down like gravity. Then it abruptly stopped when the enquiry had nothing to land on. Just the endless void, soaked in ochre.

Sans whimpered. “ok, let’s just… try not to freak out about that,” he shivered. “i, uh, can’t see,” he added, pained. “obviously.”

Grillby’s body moved again and Sans could feel the tension thick in the air.

Sans clenched his teeth, “m’sorry.”

_“Don’t.”_

“i know, force of habit,” Sans muttered, shuddering with his next inhale. “every time i breathe, uh… my soul feels.”

Waiting, Grillby remained silent. Then, expecting more of an explanation, he carefully set his hand on Sans’ shoulder. _“Feels?”_

Sans nodded a little breathlessly. “it feels a lot. i dunno if it’s sensitive, or reacting to whatever this is, or…” He huffed. “i dunno.”

 _“You will… get better,”_ Grillby offered with tentative conviction. _“You are strong.”_

Sans drew in another breath to reel in his emotions. He recalled with sharp abruptness the mantra that tumbled from his mouth, stunned and afraid.

_I don’t want more medicine._

He choked, automatically grabbing onto Grillby’s arms to steady himself.

 _“…Everything?”_ Grillby asked earnestly, a sturdy weight to keep Sans up despite how much he wanted to fall to his knees in despair. _“Anything else you can think of…?”_

Sans reflected on everything that had happened, everything that he felt and was subjected to. He grimaced as the word _JUST_ came to mind, but it didn’t connect with anything in his head. All he could focus on was the way his magic constantly drew from something, tethered to some unspeakable thing in the very heart of him.

Maybe it was the way the attack construct looked at him. Maybe it was nothing at all.

As though Grillby had detected it, the fire monster brought it up, very quietly though just as worried; _“When you lose consciousness… the power surges.”_

Sans consciously willed himself to breathe slower, not liking what that meant. He then exhaled, still slowly, to remain calm. “right. yeah.”

_“It is… concerning.”_

Stiffly, Sans nodded. “i know.”

Grillby tested their direction, gently guiding Sans to take a few steps. _“Will be your guide.”_

Sans managed to walk, clinging to the fire monster as though for dear life. The sickly feeling eventually faded, though the nauseousness about why it had happened remained. He didn’t like the metallic tang in his mouth nor the way his bones itched, like he had to wash away the ochre like it was poison.

All Sans knew was that he wasn’t sure how much time he had left. Now there was an invisible clock hung overhead of him and every time it ticked, it resonated within his bones. That, and as they approached their destination, Sans could detect disgust and fear and repulsion in the air like thick choking smoke.

And Grillby held onto him, a steady anchor at his side. Despite everything, Sans felt hopeful. Despite everything, Grillby loved him enough to carry them through this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby takes Sans to a clinic for some answers and helps to clean and soothe Sans' worries about being seen by a doctor. But when things seem too familiar to the traumatic events of his past, a presence forces Sans to withdraw. Nice to meet you. Nice to meet us. Sans gets some answers to questions from long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** eye trauma, hospital setting, panic attack, mild possession

When the two of them entered the clinic, Sans didn’t need to see in order to feel every eye lock onto him. Even as they approached the door, Grillby murmured reassuring words to him, that he had everything handled even when his emotions bled through and told Sans otherwise. He had begun to shake, and even when Sans tried to stop, he couldn’t repress it.

Everything made it worse. The smell of anesthetics, the quiet echo of the foyer, the way people murmured in a hushed way, just on the verge of being audible. Beyond his own shallow breathing, Sans heard the collective intake of shock as though it was an explosion instead.

He could picture their expressions perfectly: they’d try not to stare, they’d try to Check him just like the last time he’d been brought to a clinic. Sans could miraculously block. Though just what he was blocking with an absent HP bar, he had no idea. He didn’t need sight to know other monsters would lean towards each other, cupping a hand or claw over their mouths to whisper.

_Falling Down._

_Poor thing._

_Should just take them home to rest._

_It’s hopeless to bring them Up again._

Sans must’ve tensed, as Grillby squeezed his hand with his own. Though Sans trembled, he remained quiet, too afraid to lose control of himself in public.

Of course, what Grillby saw was different. Sure, there were furtive glances sent their way, but there were very little people gathered in the waiting room. It looked primarily to be families or spouses waiting for patients to come back from check-ups. There was no sense of urgency here, just a general calm. They didn’t whisper, only looked occasionally after the initial gasp of surprise.

There was order here. Structure. A place where Grillby felt at ease, since it meant he could trust others who were qualified to help Sans. That he didn’t have to be so tightly wound up, measured and careful. He could relax for a moment.

Sans didn’t squeeze his hand back. In fact, he had started to lock up, shaking where he stood. His breaths were shallow, and Grillby knew how hard it had to be on Sans.

So he took over, gently plying the skeleton with kind and encouraging words. He’d be Sans’ pillar, someone to hold onto and to draw comfort from. Yes, Grillby was still frightened, but he had to take charge. A favour was a favour, but he’d do it without being asked anyway.

He guided Sans up to the counter with him. Grillby attempted to smile, though he wasn’t sure if the diamond head monster behind the counter could read his expression very well. They turned to face Sans, their expression just as unreadable, small geometric shapes shifting into puzzling patterns. Then recognition. Then resignation.

Without saying anything, they signed instead, _‘Follow,’_ and stood to guide them into the hall. The facets of their head shifted a little more, changing from solids to checkers, zigzags and mottles.

Grillby was only a little familiar with how New Home clinics operated. Thanks to his brief education in the healing arts, he’d been able to visit a few hospitals in larger cities. It hadn’t been for very long, but he knew being led to the back rooms wasn’t generally good news. Grillby only hoped that he was being paranoid, and conceded that at least he’d be able to clean Sans up and get checked out.

Sans was quiet, stiffly shuffling along. Grillby had to gently tug at his arm to get him to move at first, though his silence was concerning. While Grillby normally was aware of the movement of his flames, the clinic was too quiet and he could hear the hum of his blaze as though it was roaring thunder instead.

The receptionist led them to a corner room, outfitted with a comfortable-looking bed, sleek chairs and bare, sterile cupboards that likely hid all manner of items. Grillby swallowed as the diamond head monster guided them further in, a humming buzz clicking through the air when they turned on the lights.

Sans flinched.

Concerned, the fire monster settled his hand upon Sans’ back, feeling the tension like a knot. He murmured a soft consolation, aimless as it was to please and make Sans feel safe. It must’ve done the job, since Sans relaxed a bare fraction.

The receptionist gestured, their face flicking from checkerboard to polka dots as they informed Grillby; _‘The doctor will be in to assess shortly. Please make them ready.’_

Have them ready. Have Sans ready. It didn’t sit well with Grillby, but he did note a few things - clothes and towels, a spare set of pyjamas for four-limbed people. He nodded to show that he understood and carefully eased Sans down onto the bed, thinking it’d be more suitable to help Sans out of his clothes there.

A bare whimper escaped the skeleton, bitten off and fearful as he lowered onto the soft mattress. Grillby drew in a scant breath as Sans’ hands found his arms, clinging like he couldn’t be consoled.

 _“I am here,”_ he said patiently, with all the kindness and warmth he could muster. _“You are safe. Let’s… get you out of these soiled clothes, yes?”_

Sans’ breaths shook, but he slowly nodded. He even made to move, figuring that it’d feel too much like he was being handled instead of seeking help. He carefully shrugged out of his hoodie as Grillby took it from him to settle onto the plastic-covered counter top, lingering touches helping to ground Sans as he shook on the spot. The small clatter of bones rattling was louder now without the heaviest layer of fabric covering him.

“i’m,” Sans started, though he tensed when Grillby drew nearer again. He shuddered, unable to help himself, his nerves crumbling bit by bit as he felt uncertainty pass into his soul. _“i’m-”_

 _“It’s alright,”_ Grillby murmured kindly. He eased himself next to Sans on the bed, where Sans leaned towards him, eager to be close to a familiar person. _“Remember what you said outside.”_

Sans’ breaths shivered as though he was freezing.

 _“It’ll be… ok,”_ the fire monster tested, tasting the word on his tongue like it was a foreign language, one he’d started to learn the more he loved Sans. The skeleton’s grin twitched slightly, his hold on Grillby’s hand tightening. _“All will be well. Believe in it.”_

Shakily, Sans nodded. It was the most energetic that he’d been all day, all wrung out and as tightly coiled as a spring. He allowed the tension to leave him, soothed by Grillby’s words and company. He leaned towards the fire monster’s heat, steady in its aura as Grillby held him close.

He felt the apology on his tongue as nakedly as it could ever be, but he murmured a soft “thank you”, instead. Grillby’s embrace tightened, squeezing all the comfort he felt in that moment. It seemed that he’d either stopped being so sensitive to emotions, or Grillby was keeping his sentiments under control. Either way, Sans felt less overwhelmed.

Though he didn’t know what to make of it, Grillby reached for the blindfold covering Sans’ eyes after discarding the hoodie to the floor. He traced soothing circles just under Sans’ orbits, testing the strength and wetness of the cloth. Then he lifted one side - Sans’ _good_ side - just enough to see a thin trickle of golden fluid drip down.

He hummed, concerned, though Sans remained still so he could work. Grillby carefully inched it up a little more, focused on preventing it from catching on any bone. With a wince, his eyes fell upon the blurred, hazy appearance of Sans’ eye light.

Sans tensed as the cloth was slowly moved, his expression frozen in sheer panic. Grillby murmured an apology, his voice light and soothing. Sans’ exposed eye light warbled in its socket, unfocused and corrupted by the foreign substance.

“you’re red,” Sans said very suddenly. He managed to blink, the gold liquid trailing down from his exposed eye. “gr.. grillby, you’re dim-”

Grillby hushed him, holding the side of Sans’ face. Sans shuddered under his touch, allowing his eye to close as he was held firmly, tenderly comforted.

 _“Will brighten up by evening,”_ the fire monster assured him, though relief rolled off him in waves. _“You can… see now?”_

Sans swallowed a little thickly. “n-… just blurry… colours.”

Grillby’s expression went a little dark. The tentative hope that he felt when Sans had panicked for him suddenly vanished.

_“I see. Will… call your brother, while I clean you up. Would that be alright?”_

Carefully, Sans nodded.

_“Will you help me? And hold the phone?”_

Sans nodded again, though he couldn’t help the whimper that passed his teeth. Cautiously, he kept his uncovered eye closed, relief in him now that he could do so freely. Somehow, being in a room warmed by Grillby’s presence soothed him, out of sight and out of mind.

The fire monster leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Sans’ temple, warming the bone there. It comforted them both, but it gave Grillby strength to know that Sans wasn’t as shaky as before. It certainly didn’t mean that he wasn’t afraid - there were other tells to show just how petrified Sans was. Everything that was his normal was now… gone.

It was as though Sans had been stripped bare, stuck in thoughts that preoccupied him. It was different than when he was hallucinatory after his rebound, different than the dissociative state back at the restaurant.

So it would be a natural distraction and comfort to Sans that Grillby called his brother. Sans was conscious, moving on his own and upright. The lights were on. Surely, cell service had to be reconnected by then?

Grillby punched the number into his phone. He waited and waited, Sans’ wet gulp a quiet tell of just how worried he was by the delay. Papyrus didn’t normally let it go past two rings. Cautiously, Grillby looked at the screen to make sure he’d dialled the correct number, the eighth ring loud and clear.

It made something inside of him twist when it wasn’t Papyrus whom had answered, but a deep baritone that he didn’t recognise.

“Hello, there. Who is this.”

Caught off guard, Grillby floundered, a few snaps and crackles escaping him in lieu of words. Sans’ expression tightened in response, though he kept silent.

“What was that. You will need to speak up.”

Embarrassed, Grillby started a rolling hum to project his voice. Normally he could do it amongst the people that he knew, but Grillby suddenly found it difficult to speak. He just withered where he sat, then took to watching Sans, trying to keep the worry from bleeding out of him.

Perhaps it was poor timing, since Sans already looked affected by the sharp contrast of his mood. To ensure that Sans had something to focus on other than the fact he was slowly falling apart in a clinic, Grillby took one of his hands, pried open his fingers, and handed him his cell phone.

Grillby focused on the background noises when he put the phone to speaker, the subtle whisper of a trickling brook, scuffs and shuffles and a bit of a whimper in the distance.

 _“Pa.. py… us’... tele…… one?”_ Grillby’s fire burned a little hotter with embarrassment, but Sans’ expression softened slightly. As mutually comforting as they were, Sans had the strength to reach over and take Grillby’s hand.

“Yes, of course. Just one moment.”

Grillby held his breath as he heard the receiving end clatter with claws, the elongated shuffle and muffle of words low enough that he couldn’t make them out. He strained himself to hear, caught on the tail end of the whisper. Perhaps he’d heard wrong, unless Papyrus really was at a bakery. Grillby didn’t think that was the case though, as Papyrus had been extremely distressed. The fire monster was convinced that he’d run all the way to the ports at the other end of Waterfall if he had to.

Then again, Papyrus had given him the same line that Sans did, hadn’t he? Wait here. He’ll be told the details later.

_Promise._

Restless and flinching with every loud thump and scrape against the receiver, Grillby tensed where he sat, squeezing Sans’ free hand. He didn’t know what the person on the other end of the line was doing, but anticipation and worry crawled up Grillby’s throat like a nest of hornets. He managed to keep the metaphor at bay, his fire flickering with agitation when the phone seemingly exchanged hands.

“HI.”

Grillby had prepared himself to speak, but the flat, listless tone he was met with made him pause. He slowly looked away from Sans’ perplexed face to the phone, his flames curling questioningly, feeding off his confusion as they idly prodded for information.

It _was_ Papyrus’ voice, but… Grillby couldn’t be sure. He stared at the phone number on the screen, each number the exact same as he’d dialled it, day in and day out.

_‘Papyrus… your brother needs you to be here for him.’_

No, that would only worry Papyrus further. Sans was adamant on preventing that, so Grillby inhaled deeply to calm himself. Sans’ hands were starting to shake again.

 _“Papyrus, we are… in New Home,”_ he breathed, and stroked at Sans’ inner wrist with the pad of his thumb. He traced small light circles against the smooth bone, projecting care and healing now that he wasn’t stressed out of his wits. He did hesitate for a beat of silence, when Papyrus didn’t say anything in reply. _“Had some… trouble. At Jasper and Codec Clinic on C9 boulevard.”_

A well-known clinic. Even Papyrus would know that.

If the silence had been thick before, the trinkets clattering and shuffling of papers in the background abruptly ended. Sans’ breath shuddered, but Grillby squeezed his hand with firm reassurance.

“YOU--YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT,” the other side finally managed to harshly whisper. It was definitely Papyrus’ voice, but his tone was less ostentatious, rude and in-your-face. Sans lowered his head, unable to bear hearing his brother speak that way. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT, YOU HAVE TO TAKE HIM OUT-- _OUT_ OF THERE, HE WON’T, SANS WON’T TOLERATE THAT, HE-!!”

 _“Was his idea,”_ Grillby said firmly, so much that his voice shook. _“He made the decision.”_

The hesitation from the other end of the call was palpable, so much that Grillby looked to Sans for reassurance. Suddenly, the fire monster didn’t feel as though he’d done the right thing.

Cautiously, he pried for more, _“…Papyrus?”_

“HE’S OK?”

Grillby’s soul throbbed with sympathy so much that Sans flinched. He gave the skeletal hand under his another comforting squeeze. _“He is… and had been earlier. He has been…”_ He trailed off, unsure what to tell Papyrus about what had happened.

Sans seemed to detect Grillby’s hesitation, as he lifted his head and opened his uncovered eye. The eye light remained hazy and stretched thin, like egg whites suspended in water. He shook his head as though to infer, _‘no, don’t tell him.’_

“THAT IS… THAT IS SUCH A RELIEF, HONESTLY, THANK YOU--THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CARING, WE--I-”

Grillby smiled a little sadly, but gently continued to help Sans out of his clothes.

“I… I MUST SAY,” Papyrus said, his voice breaking a little. Sans had a pained look about him, but still, he remained quiet. “I’VE BEEN WAITING AT THE ARCHIVES - THERE’S SO MANY BOOKS HERE. SCROLLS, TOMES, RECIPES!! AND A DEAR OLD FELLOW BY THE NAME OF VARGUS-” He stopped. “ACTUALLY, YOU SHOULD MOVE SANS TO HAVEN HOUSING INSTEAD. MUCH LESS… CLINIC-Y. ALSO, I CAN MAKE MY WAY OVER TO SEE HIM. IS SANS THERE? CAN I SPEAK TO HIM?”

Grillby helped to remove Sans’ t-shirt, soaked so the logo of whatever cereal that was on it was completely erased. _“You may. He’s holding the phone.”_ He then stooped to remove Sans’ shoes.

“REALLY!! THIS ENTIRE TIME?? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO!!” Sufficed to say, it did Sans’ soul good to hear Papyrus sound so elated. A crooked grin tugged at his teeth, bare ribs heaving in deep and shallow breaths like he was on the verge of crying.

“OH, SANS!! YOU REALLY ARE THERE?? YOU SOUND OUT OF BREATH. SUPPOSE THAT I… I’LL ALLOW YOU TO REST.” As Papyrus chattered, Sans briskly wiped away a tear. “I WAS VERY WORRIED, BUT I’M GLAD YOU’RE AWAKE AND OK!!”

Unable to help himself, Sans ducked his face into his hand, holding back a sob that wracked his frame. Grillby paused, shirt in hand, his eyes searching as Sans couldn’t repress his tears any more. His shoulders shook, his grip allowing the phone to slide to the bed to cover his face. He wanted his brother near.

“I’LL YELL AT YOU LATER FOR WORRYING ME SICK!! ONCE YOU’RE READY - REMEMBER, NORTH END!!! THE ARCHIVES!!! WE’RE STILL LOOKING FOR THINGS ABOUT THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM, BUT NO DOUBT VARGUS AND I WILL HAVE ALL THE INFO READY BY THE TIME _YOU_ ARE READY, SANS!!”

Sans grinned to himself, nodding, his voice breaking on a strangled sound that was too similar to a sob. He wiped at his eye and forced out the words, “y.. yeah, bro. love ya, th-thanks.”

“YOU WILL BE FINE, SANS!! YOU HAVE YOUR INCREDIBLY HOT AND CARING BOYFRIEND THERE TO CARE FOR YOU. JUST REMEMBER; HAVEN HOUSING!! YOU’LL BE SO MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE THERE, AND IT’S ONLY BLOCKS AWAY FROM THIS GIANT LIBRARY THAT SEEMINGLY NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT!! I ALSO LOVE YOU AND I BELIEVE YOU’RE GOING TO BE JUST FINE!! DON’T WORRY!!! WE’RE ALL HERE, ROOTING FOR YOU!!”

When the call ended, Grillby watched as Sans trembled where he sat, his breaths shuddering in wet sobs. His soul twisting with sympathy, the fire monster leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sans to hold him again.

Very quietly, he asked, _“Was it really right not to tell him?”_

Sans didn’t say anything, only tucked into Grillby’s chest. He shook his head, but Grillby had a feeling he did more out of denying the enquiry, not that he had made a mistake in keeping the reason from Papyrus.

Grillby was a little restless for how long it was taking for the doctor to arrive. He supposed that even if it didn’t appear busy in the clinic, there were several rooms that were closed, and likely there were only so many people who could be seen in a timely matter. It allowed him time to think, to reflect on what had happened.

Grillby ultimately needed rest. Sans was right - the dark auburn of his flames were as though he was still sick, low and coiling. He hadn’t slept the previous night, and he was starting to fade, exhaustion laying thick over him like a stifling blanket. It had been hours since he’d had any rest, though he doubted he could relax at all while Sans relied on him.

He assured Sans that he wouldn’t be far, finding his eye light milky and pale yellow. It was as though the golden ochre liquid had nearly all drained out, leaving the innate magic monsters were born with. And yet, Grillby couldn’t place on how different it was to Sans’ magic as it usually was - normally tinted cyan like something a little more special.

Sans was special to him. Strange as it was to think, Grillby didn’t think much of it since he’d become accustomed to it. Instead, he thought back to Sans in his kitchen, scared, helpless and shaking.

He found a hook to hang his jacket onto and even a pair of protective gloves under the sink. Grillby eyed the pair of pink and zebra-patterned gloves with a bit of distaste, but they’d have to do. Sequentially, he levelled the tap with both apprehension and suspicion, hoping that it wasn’t caught by Sans nearly six feet away.

Grillby located a few washcloths and a small basin from under the cupboards. Even though he knew how important it was to get Sans clean again, it took Grillby longer to come to the resignation that water was _necessary_ to do so. His flames all but shrieked at it, tired and alarmed as he partially filled the basin with water, running the tap as slowly as it would go to minimise any misbehaving droplets.

It was fine. It wasn’t as though fire could cleanse whatever oily substance that had drenched Sans’ body. In fact, he wasn’t sure if the water would be sufficient. Most clothing certainly wasn’t flame retardant, and no matter how much Grillby held himself back, he always managed to singe a few of Sans’ favourite shirts - not that Sans seemed to mind.

He smiled absently to himself with the fonder memories. He even managed to hold back half a grimace as he brought over the basin and a handful of washcloths to help as best as he was able.

“water..?” Sans mumbled, his voice barely there. He managed to open one eye again, exhausted from holding himself so tense. He looked as though he was about to protest. “grillby-”

 _“Don’t,”_ Grillby gently chastised before Sans had a chance to even start. With all the care he mustered in the world, Grillby brought a small side table closer to the bed so he could leave the basin of water on it, having warmed it with his ambient heat. Then he pulled on the gloves, hopeful that the integrity of the material would hold out long enough for him to use. _“Allow me to do this.”_

With the level of care Grillby administered him, Sans remained quiet and sat with his hands in his lap. The fire monster was very meticulous, though his flames berated him and irritable for handling water outside of working hours. He ignored them in favour of helping Sans, whose eye closed again when he brought the steaming cloth up to his face.

It marvelled Grillby of how much of it simply washed away. Its metallic hues flushed off bone, soaked into the cloth, only to be erased when he rinsed it out in the basin. Grillby hummed to himself since he didn’t quite know what to talk about, worry gnawing at him persistently. Every time he handled the cloth, the water would steam and Sans’ soft gasp or exhale would startle him.

_“I am… not hurting you, am I?”_

Sans’s expression relaxed, half of his face smeared with gold while the other was bone white. “n.. nah.”

Grillby smiled warmly, even though Sans couldn’t see it. It must’ve reached him anyway, since the skeleton relaxed, the tension easing a little more from his joints.

“reminds me of, uh… mud pies.”

Grillby felt his temperature spike just a touch, flushed when it immediately brought to mind their little sparring match - and the events that followed. Mostly, the memory of how Sans wiped off the mud, both careless and flirtatiously. It hadn’t looked so inviting then. Sans looked almost tranquil now. Just like when Grillby had kissed his ribs for the first time, flushed and bright-

Sans swallowed, visibly tense again. When Grillby looked up from what he was doing, he didn’t say a word. Still, a dense heat prickled at him, not unwelcome, just strange. It touched his face, locked away in his soul, throbbing a deep echo there. Sans heaved a deep sigh, unable to help himself when the sensation ventured a little south.

Maybe Grillby was thinking of something nice just for him, to get him to calm down when he needed a distraction. Sans didn’t think he’d so explicitly thought of Grillby’s hands on him as he did just then, to the point where his pubic symphysis throbbed and his face flushed.

“wow.”

Distractedly, Grillby inclined his head, his mind in two areas at once as he worked. _“Wow, what?”_

Sans’ chest heaved a startling little glimmer where his soul hid, safe and sound. Absently, his hands fidgeted in his lap, shoulders slightly raised. Grillby’s gaze was drawn to the foot under Sans’ knee, which lifted ever so slightly, gently curling.

“i, uh,” Sans murmured softly, finally finding his voice. Grillby lifted the washcloth from the water again, pressing it, hot and lush against the curve of Sans’ jaw. Sans’ eye fluttered closed, the burn of something unnamed kindling where the heat touched him. “i’m still f.. feeling that intent, g.”

He drew in another deep breath, the heavy heat nearly intoxicating. He could barely register where he was - that is, it proved so much of a distraction that Sans no longer cared. His hands found his ankle and squeezed it as though it’d help to relieve some of the tension that crept up on him.

It was a different kind of tension, too. Sans flushed when he felt Grillby swipe away the oil from his face with a gentleness that made a noise lock in his false throat. He was sure he felt Grillby tense, too keen and rapt on the sensation that when Grillby brought up another cloth, dry and warm, to catch the dripping water from his face, Sans had to bite his tongue.

_“I, erm…”_

Sans could see the flutter of paler colour glimmer in his vision like the glow of a bonfire, bright and pretty. He felt a surge, embarrassed by and for Grillby all at once. His boyfriend’s heat didn’t have anything to do with how hot his face was just then.

 _“Not… normally able to keep such thoughts at bay,”_ Grillby said apologetically.

Sans couldn’t help but grin at that, though it was a little awkward to be so flustered when his emotions were warring with each other whether or not he should just escape or scream.

“you’re, uh… saying you’re normally this pervy?”

The heat grew a little more, and that made Sans feel a little better. It was a good distraction.

_“It’s unseemly.”_

“it’s funny,” Sans countered, unable to stop grinning. “you’re like this gentleman th-” His soul jumped when the heated cloth was set against his face again, and Sans squeezed his ankle to diffuse the magic collecting down his spine. “-that’s all hung up on having a good appearance but on the inside, the tv in your skull’s got the unlisted channels playing non-stop, huh?”

Another flush. Grillby decided to divert his attention; _“My skull?”_

“well,” the skeleton considered thoughtfully. _“something’s_ hard under there.”

He didn’t have to be able to see to know that knowing smirk cracked the fire monster’s mouth. It almost felt natural, but at the same time it didn’t. There was a low hum in his head, and every time Sans focused on it, it felt as though he was being pulled to the side. He knew that deep down, he could only keep up with being distracted for so long before the tiny noises in the background eventually caught up with him.

Scratches. Small squeaks of something wheeled closer. The soft patter of water trickling down his face as Grillby clumsily cleaned him as best as he was able to. He figured Grillby didn’t really feel comfortable with it, hence all the extra precaution of leading the wet washcloth with a dry one.

They were probably soaking the bed. The doctor would be upset when they arrived. Apprehensively, Sans swallowed, his fingers flexing onto bone to help ease the tension inside of him. His breath stuttered out, all tight and anxious.

The doctor.

Doctors.

Grillby said something to him, but Sans couldn’t focus on the sound beyond the noises that came from the hall.

Doctors were everywhere. He could feel them in the halls like packs of animals, gathered in groups in the shadows. It took a lot to keep him down, he had _fight_ in him, and near the end Sans had become so uncooperative that they had resorted to restraints and force.

The breaths froze in his chest, pinching when he found he couldn’t breathe. He gaped helplessly, his eyes widened, starting to panic.

Again, he heard Grillby’s voice, felt the _other_ kind of panic, of the fire monster’s concern for him and his well-being. His hands were warm on his shoulders and Grillby rubbed at his arms to get him to calm down. Tears slipped down his face and the fire monster tried to speak to him again, but it all sounded muffled, far away and through a filter of deep water.

He couldn’t breathe. He was hysterical, quiet, muted sounds coming from his mouth. He heard the door open, heard the wheels approach. Medicine, doctors. He had no choice. He was shaking. Someone was shaking him, pulling at him, pushing him down. All he could see was a flare of light and the gold that washed out his vision.

Whether out of self-defense or self-preservation, it swallowed him up. It clouded his mind, allowing Sans to float along unseen, calm and detached.

However long it had been, he didn’t know. His arms felt stretched tight, but they hung at his sides. The place he was in was nondescript as much as it was familiar, like meeting the back of his head if he had to compare it with anything else.

『Nice to meet you. Nice to meet us.』

Sans swallowed but found his mouth dry. The voice - _voices_ \- were familiar, yet he was sure he’d never heard them before. Or perhaps he had. Distantly, in another life, in another plane of existence. Their voices were many, soothing yet unpractised.

It’d been awhile, hadn’t it? He had heard them before. Once in awhile, an assessing whisper would pass through his head whenever he chanced upon something that seemed out of place. Then it’d be gone, like Sans had imagined it.

They sounded tired. They sounded like many. Blindly, Sans looked around, turning in place. Since his vision had clouded over, he had little choice but to keep on guard. Wherever Grillby or the doctors were, they were far enough away that he wasn’t affected by their Intent or emotions. As far as he knew, he’d used a shortcut in his panic and had landed in an in-between spot again, out of sight and out of mind.

Sans waited for more information. He wasn’t typically a guy that demanded answers like some life-passionate protagonist in one of Alphys’ animes. While the question lingered on his tongue, Sans shuffled, bare boned save for his shorts and socks, suspended in a place out of reach.

“ok, i’ll bite,” he muttered more to himself than anything else. He shifted his weight to one side and scuffed his foot behind his knee, still attempting to see through the fog of his vision.

『You were panicking. We were panicking. We thought this the best time. You thought this the best time.』

Sans narrowed his eyes at the phrasing, like the voices were attempting to spell things out very slowly. The baritones shifted into varying tenors and altos and back again, mixed, like every voice they possessed was speaking at once.

『We tried before. You tried before. It didn’t work. We didn’t work.』

“ok,” Sans said slowly, more to keep the conversation going than anything else. They didn’t seem immediately threatening, and if he was being honest with himself, Sans found them more of a comfort than the clinic room… wherever that was.

『We are the past. You are the past. We are stunted. Separated. Crushed. Lost. Found. Absorbed. Broken. Consumed. You are not. You are whole.』

Sans couldn’t help but scoff, though he was sure that he’d heard those words somewhere before. “try again, buddy.”

They continued, sounding genuinely adamant on explaining themselves. 『We were you. You were us. He. He did this to us. He did this to you.』

“he.”

『He, the one that sired you. That brought us to being. Sought to separate us from you. You from us.』 They paused. 『It failed. We failed. You failed.』

Sans frowned, not really sure.

『You don’t understand. We don’t understand. You continued to grow. We were locked away. Imprisoned for years. Free for years. Alone. With family.』

He felt his soul lurch with sympathy, but he buried the feeling. Still, he didn’t understand, only the barest fragments connecting in his mind.

『When you Fell, we Fell. When you rose, we remained. Stayed dormant. Too injured. Too burned.』

“ok,” Sans said again, and shook his head to clear his thoughts. “what do you mean?”

『We are your armour, your sword, your shield. You are our marrow, our bone, our blood.』

“you’re not making a lick of sense here, guys.”

『We are one. You are one.』

Sans sighed into his hand, though it came back wet. He squinted at his palm, the vague light doing nothing but showing it as a blur of yellow and cyan.

『You continued to grow. We started to rot. We cannot die. You cannot die. We can’t afford it. You can’t afford it. Justice wars with Patience. Patience wars with Justice.』

Sans stilled, slowly drawing things together. _Justice_ had been the trait injected into him when he was Falling - the Determination Alphys had selected at random from the tray of others. It’d been a stroke of luck, ending up with the combination that he did. If Alphys had grabbed something else, he doubted that it would’ve been easy to cope with.

Justice wars with Patience.

Well, that was nothing new. Sans constantly fought with himself on that front, both unbothered to look into things that he knew felt wrong. It was one such example. Still, it didn’t really make any sense.

『The one that did this. He cut our armour. Our shield. Sought to harness our sword, our weapon, with which we exact sentence.』

They paused, as though considering something.

『He left us bare. He left you bare. Unprotected. Sought to change values which were never his to alter.』

A light went on in Sans’ head, sudden like lightning. “wait, are you talking about what… happened to me as a kid? `cause i gotta tell you, i don’t remember-”

『Fed us poison. Fed you poison. Extract the summoning. Bind the host. He didn’t know what he was doing. He failed. It failed.』

_We failed._

Sans wasn’t sure, but he thought he was beginning to understand. It was like talking with a representation of all his dreams and nightmares, though the more they spoke, the more a picture formed in his mind as to what they might look like. At first, he pictured a sentry, nondescript and wearing the insignia of the royal family. As they spoke, little pieces faded from view. When they said their shield had been torn away, Sans envisioned plates of steel falling from an equally nondescript monster.

When they said the armour had been cut away, the helm they wore revealed two piercing eyes, unblinking and wide, staring into his soul. Staring _out_ from his soul. He began to understand that when he was looking around, ultimately Sans was seeing through their eyes.

They shared a body, always had.

They were broken. Unwhole. Deformed. Damaged. They had Fallen when he had, carrying them in his body all this time like a cracked rib.

And his father - or what he had assumed was his father, had tried to extract them from his body, and with no costs spared to his psyche, too. Distantly, Sans recalled a measured and rising shriek of agony, so loud and unfettered that it raised the fibres of his bones, prickling along his shoulder blades and down his jaw.

He blinked back the soul-shuddering sensation, but couldn’t help but wonder what the reason was behind it all. Why extract a ghost at the expense of a kid?

『Sought to use us,』 they answered, as though they had insight to the innermost workings of Sans’ mind. 『Sought to free you. Host is bound. Cannot undo. Pact made, pact true. He was wicked, sought implements beyond his control. He failed. It failed.』

Sans swallowed uneasily with the resolute tension that crawled into his body with the words, like every syllable spoke clearly from his heart and soul.

_Their heart and soul?_

『We are one. You are one.』

Ok, so he retained body autonomy. Then, was it _this_ thing that had caused the blackouts? Had he said something strange to Grillby while he was out? Or hell, even Papyrus?

Shit, _Papyrus._ This place felt familiar for a reason, though Sans couldn’t put his finger on it.

『We sought help. You sought help. The crimes he committed had ended. We were free. You were free. We were healing. All of us.』

Sans shook his head. “i’m not sure if i get what you’re saying. you’re repeating a lot. and, uh, i’m not sure where we are.”

『We are inside. You are inside.』

“in what?”

『In your heart. In our heart.』

Sans sighed, glancing up. Everything still appeared to be underwater, filtered through the muck, thick magic swirling around like old grime. He thought he could see the top of the surface like lights from a lake high above, dancing around like fireflies.

Was he in a lake? Underwater? Trapped someplace between the gridline and the in-between world in Waterfall like before?

This didn’t make sense at all.

“why are you speaking in riddles?” Sans suddenly asked. “and why can’t i see you?”

『We are you. You are us. Can one generally see the inside of one’s head?』

“cool, so i got someone slumming inside my head, showing me the inside of my soul like a bad hand of cards.” Sans didn’t know if he was comfortable with this or not, but he was leaning towards ‘not’.

Somewhere above, he could almost feel a pinch. It echoed behind his ribs, causing him to stumble and grasp at his sternum.

『We are starving. You are starving. We clung to the abstratus to feed. You use us for a source. Our relationship is mutually beneficial.』

Abstratus. The CORE, they meant.

Sans winced as he felt a warmth flood over him. “is it, though?” he asked sardonically, a little distracted.

『If you die, we die. If we die, you die. You need us for a source. We need you as a host. One cannot live without the other.』

Sans bitterly grinned. “oh, is that all.”

『Before such information, you were not opposed.』 They seemed to consider it for a moment. 『Nor were we.』

“having second thoughts?”

『We don’t understand.』

“boy, that makes the two of us.” Sans absently ran his fingers over his sternum, feeling a wash of healing magic flood into him. The air and magic around him cleared a little, and it almost felt as though he was being squeezed. Like maybe Grillby was holding him. Or maybe they were holding him down, distantly, while magic was fed into him-

 _Grillby._ That poor soul - he must be scaring him witless. Sans could start to feel the trickle of panic slide up into his entire being again, like a calling card to consciousness.

“ok, besides you all running around in my head and not paying rent,” he said, and swallowed again. “i have questions.”

『As do we.』

Sans chose to ignore that for the moment. “what’s your name?”

『We are unnamed. You are named. Suppose if one were to be exact, one could call us `Sans`.』

“cheeky. that’s not it,” Sans scoffed, becoming a little irritated.

『Then we suppose we are without.』

Wow, what a sense of humour.

“is the gold magic yours?” Sans decided to press on.

『When the father carved us from our armour, it left a wound. It still bleeds. It could be contained, but there is only so much space a skeleton can hold without it spilling over. Now, we are weak. As a result, you are weak. The breach must be staunched.』

Sans thought about his skull being filled to capacity, filling his mouth, down into the hairline cracks of his body. He had the mental image of it seeping into his marrow and staying there, and he went cold with fear.

『It is not a concern. Many Hosts accommodate.』

“you say that like you’ve got insight to my mind’s eye,” Sans muttered. He grimaced again and made to sit, his strength fading. “yeah, yeah. what are you, besides me? there’s gotta be a reason beyond me housing whatever you are.”

They seemed to consider it at great length, as though tasting the words in every form. The air around Sans shifted, until he saw a bisected eye light hovering in the far distance. It was something he’d seen far too many times out of the corner of his own eye, in training or when he was especially riled up after a bad dream.

Yellow and blue, blazing like fire from a clear orb of light.

Gold and cyan.

_Them and me._

Justice and Patience.

『We are the Judgement. You are the Host. With our armour stripped, we are only a weapon now. We serve the Just, the Righteous. You serve the Truth. We are unformed. You are carnate. This is how it must be.』

Sans sunk to the floor, blinking to clear his bleary vision. “you’re saying that since you don’t have a body, you have to use mine - like others have.”

『We are one.』

“there’s only ever been one of you? and one guy managed to disable you so easily?”

『We were unformed. Trapped in a child’s body. You were powerless.』

Sans suddenly felt great shame, though he knew it was stupid to.

『A child is incapable of such cruelty.』 They stopped. 『They bear no fault. It’s simply black and white.』

“black and white?”

『We are unformed. Our disposition. Our confidence. Our point of view in the world is… delayed.』

Sans suddenly barked a laugh at the sheer coincidence. “ok. what do i - _we_ do, then?”

The magic thickened around him as he felt the words more than heard them, reverberating within his rib cage and up along his spine until it collected in his head. Sans had a feeling that he wouldn’t be conscious long enough to entertain their end of the questioning period.

Even though it was only three little words, it shook him down to his core, the outside world lowering his focus inward and the possession’s draw waning. Sans was left in limbo, darkness clouding his already obfuscated vision as the words echoed within his skull.

_SEEK THE KING._

Welp. It couldn’t possibly get any clearer than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember when I said chapter 14 was important? :3 Hehe.
> 
> The Judge makes an appearance!! You get a cookie if you get the little joke. :D The way the Judge speaks is stunted, since it was severed and forced into dormancy, so it didn't grow alongside Sans or gain insight to the world as Sans has. So, as such, they see things in either 'good or bad' or 'black and white'. So it's a little immature, and would find fault with, say, someone who killed out of self-defense. BUT it knows that, which is why it warned Sans. If you're wondering, Sans' feelings were somewhat detached throughout this, feeling echoes from 'outside' and inside, so the Judge's information didn't really make him anxious (thus far).
> 
> Thanks for ya'll's patience ♥ I hope the quotes for the Judge don't muck up screen readers too much. I tested with mine and it read them fine, but let me know if not. ♥
> 
> [ **coolcowboycody**](https://coolcowboycody.tumblr.com/) drew art from the rebound arc which you can see [**here!**](https://skerbbie.tumblr.com/post/190573841070/) (medical cw)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedside manners... or doctors' lack thereof.  
> Grillby tries his best while Sans is sleeping.  
> (Grillby POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** aftermath of eye trauma, hospital setting/stay, poor end-of-life discussion, doctors ignoring a patient's needs based on what they see instead of listening to symptoms

Grillby’s world felt as though it was in slow motion when Sans no longer responded to him. He was there, awake and breathing, but it was very clear that something had triggered a thought or a worry that made Sans lock up out of fear. He hid away from the world, leaving Grillby on his own, fighting panic just as much as before.

He wanted structure. He wanted to be told that he was doing right by Sans, that he had nothing to fear when Sans fell unconscious and the power didn’t go out. Grillby never before felt so afraid of the dark, even while he was constantly surrounded by light.

The doctor arrived with a couple assistants - more diamond heads, as that was the majority of the population within the quarries and New Home. The doctor was an object head that warred with Grillby’s sentiments; their element was _water,_ not fire. Still, they were professional and calm.

Grillby couldn’t speak. No matter how hard he tried, the words wouldn’t come.

Their body language told him most of what Grillby needed to know. A preliminary Check on Sans revealed nothing and they tensed. He didn’t understand water, but the way the doctor spoke was abrupt and garbled, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. All three of them took up the remaining sides of the bed to help Grillby lower Sans down onto the mattress, their words whispering, reassuring.

“It’s fine. We’ll see to it that they’re ok.”

Not ‘they’. _Him._ Sans.

“We’ll ensure that they’re comfortable and sound, safe and cleaned up. You’ve done a lot, haven’t you? You should rest. We’ll make sure they’re here when you come back.”

What!? Grillby surged with anger. He certainly wasn’t leaving. Everything about the situation screamed of _wrongness_ to him.

His mouth trembled in an offended sneer, the hiss of his flames low and ornery, upset that this was happening. _“I.. m…… ea… ng!”_

 _(I am_ _not_ _leaving!)_

“Lack of values aside, it’s clear what’s happened.” The doctor was polite enough, nodding with the water-filled crucible that acted as their head. The sides of the glass condensated with Grillby’s ambient heat and they took a kerchief from their breast pocket to wipe over its side. “We’re terribly sorry. We can make them comfortable and you can stay with them. We can administer aethers for sustenance in the meantime.”

What were they saying? Grillby swallowed, his eyes bright and widened with horror.

The doctor considered him for a moment, then looked down to where Grillby’s hands grasped Sans’. “Oh. I see. You’ll have to forgive us.”

It was presumptuous and downright insulting.

 _“…e’s… not Falling,”_ Grillby all but hissed quietly. _“Was awake. You frightened him, he’s… not had good experiences with hospitals.”_ He didn’t know if that was entirely correct, but it still felt somewhat true. The context clues that Sans gave him were all incriminating.

“Is this… your first?”

Grillby wasn’t sure if he understood the meaning. Either the doctor understood and barrelled on without pause, or could decipher Grillby’s expression, they continued;

“It is very difficult when a mate Falls Down. We understand your anger, the refusal to accept. It is common to yell and outwardly hate the condition, but all we can do is accept it and make them comfortable until they pass.”

Grillby felt as though a knife twisted within his soul. He raised a hand to push his glasses up, pushing away a burning tear that threatened to fall. Somehow, this all felt wrong.

“Allow me to explain,” the object head offered, a kinder note replacing their sterile clinical tone. Their gloved hand hovered over Sans’ chest, where the small soul beneath started to glow brightly. Then, coaxed out of hiding, it rose up above Sans’ rib cage, looking far smaller than Grillby could have ever recalled.

Not that he ever saw it laid bare like this, but… he trusted that the doctor knew how to treat a soul, seeing as it was their profession.

Then they flicked their hand upside-down. A grid appeared just over the soul, hovering inverted over Sans’ sternum. The grid was small, only twelve inches across and looked somewhat old, but half of it appeared corroded away, burnt and drenched in that same golden ochre.

Grillby felt tears prick at his eyes again and his soul sank at the sight.

“This is what a Check reveals, and though it normally isn’t viewable in normal circumstances, the patient’s board is scored and torn away. By the looks of it, it has been so for most of their life.”

 _“His-”_ Grillby hissed out; it was very important that they didn’t place anonymity upon Sans. Tightly, he squeezed Sans’ hand as he slept while Grillby looked over the board.

The doctor regarded Grillby for a moment before they decided to continue, gesturing at the side of the board that looked both cut and burned away. “This area is where his… maximum HP values should be stored-” They seamlessly glided back to where the numbering was just absent, a gold splash blurring and obscuring the number underneath. “-and here is where normally, you could see thei--his full values. Since we cannot view his full bar, there is little else we can do but administer aethers and see if he stabilises.”

_If._

Stabilise. Just like before. Grillby felt helpless, left by himself to make decisions he felt in no way capable of making. Papyrus trusted him. The doctors knew what they were talking about. Grillby just wanted Sans to tell him that what he was doing was the right thing.

Why did it all feel so wrong??

He felt under pressure, claustrophobic and trapped. Grillby belatedly realised that he’d burned through one of the gloves and removed them both to discard on the side table where the basin of water and washcloths were left.

“We’ll allow you to decide for yourself. In the meantime, we’ll have some flame-retardant clothes and sheets sent for you. You must be…” They hesitated, taking in the state of Grillby’s gold-soaked clothes and his low flames. They carried on, gesturing to dismiss Sans’ soul and with it his values on display. “You’ll feel more ready to make a decision after you’re cleaned up.”

 _“Can… you check,”_ the fire monster said hastily. _“He seized and was… unresponsive, and then ill-”_

“Of course, that is not uncommon with those who have given up,” the doctor mused, and Grillby felt a brilliantly crushing weight loom over him. “I’m afraid testing would just upset the--him.”

 _“He is… sensitive to Intent,”_ Grillby tried again. _“More so than anyone should be!! A passing thought-”_

“Sir, I understand that you are upset. At this point, they are well on their way and we can do nothing for them.”

Grillby’s fires shrieked with frustration and he stood, fists clenched tightly so he wouldn’t strike at the doctor. Not that he would, but they took a precautionary step back and raised their clipboard as though it’d stave Grillby off.

“We can make them comfortable, but further testing would only serve to be a waste when others still need attending to. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

And with that, they were gone.

Grillby almost hiccoughed as he sank back onto the bed. Everything inside of him felt like it was under pressure, as though his nuclear heart was unable to pump as quickly as it was supposed to. Their words played on every fear he had - that Sans _was_ Falling Down and in order to soothe his worries, Sans had _lied_ to him.

No, he couldn’t think that way. Though in all honesty, what he expected and how Sans acted lately were two separate possibilities, Grillby knew he had to trust in Sans. Sans, who _wasn’t_ Falling Down, whom had come on his own volition-

Clean, he had to get Sans clean.

His thoughts whirled. He should call Papyrus again to get a second opinion. Or maybe, Sans would reawaken, angry and hurt that Grillby didn’t trust him.

Grillby hung his head in his hands, utterly lost.

Should he accept the scant help offered by the doctors, who seemed all too eager to come to the conclusion that Sans was dying…? By any and all rights, they were doing what they were trained for, preparing those with loved ones too far gone to refuse help…

That’s what Sans had warned him against, wasn’t it?

_Don’t give in to what the doctors might say. They’re quick to give up hope when things look dire._

Grillby had to fight for him. As though it would bolster him, Grillby squeezed Sans’ hand in his own, comforting as it was reassuring. As much as he wanted so badly to do the right thing, he wasn’t sure what to do apart from argue. Perhaps they should just leave, but…

To be quite honest, Grillby couldn’t muster any magic to heal Sans even if he had to. It’d been a long night and an even longer morning, and he was starting to feel disoriented and weary. His flames had turned down low and maroon, rusty and ashen. If anything, Grillby needed to rest before making any hard decisions.

Sans lay, his chest rising and falling with his soft breaths. Grillby took comfort in that he didn’t look like he was in pain. In fact, he looked a little ridiculous, having only been partially cleaned up.

The manifested Check was worrying, so he thought back to what limited training he had when he spent time at the academy for healing arts. Though there was a marked difference between doctors and healers, both knew not to show the soul so flippantly. Although, if the doctor honestly believed Sans to be his mate, then they’d done so only to put a stop to his outright refusal to accept that Sans was Falling Down.

Grillby recalled how the values were scorched away, very obviously burned on the right side.

Right down the middle.

Grillby recalled the phrases, _‘when I had my accident’_ and _‘fell into the CORE’_ with astounding clarity. His body moved as though on autopilot and he pushed himself off the bed and headed towards the cupboard. He saw the bags of aethers in neat rows, brilliant neons of magic held on hooks. Below it were gloves, salves, needles and graphs. Lower, there were more water-repellent gloves. It seemed likely that a fire monster worked at the clinic, which was something of a godsend.

Grillby liberated a pair, hastily closing the cupboard again in case he was caught. The dishwashing gloves were a melted mess after the exposure of his flames, but the purple gloves fit his hands just fine after a few adjustments. He’d tend to Sans himself, because Grillby couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about this clinic.

Papyrus said to bring him to Haven Housing, but first he had to get him cleaned. If Papyrus new something about the clinic they were at, then he would’ve said something, right? Grillby turned over those thoughts as he tested the gloves’ integrity by submerging his hand into the bowl of water, then the other. It was fine. The liquid didn’t boil and there were no leaks. He felt safer, but not by much.

Still, he liberated another few cloths to wash Sans’ face. He rinsed away the golden oil, watching as it beaded up and sunk into the fabric. If Sans truly was Falling Down, he was doing a poor job of it. His breathing was strong, though a little shaky. The light of his magic filled his joints, and his body wasn’t off-coloured or grey. Save for feeling relatively ill and tired, Sans looked just as he always did.

Although, the seizure was concerning.

Grillby scanned his memory for any knowledge that would help him - which was unfortunate, seeing as he’d flunked out of the academy when it had come to be too much. He could never get the simple things, but overly complicated and advanced techniques were strangely easy, such as soul wells.

He debated connecting them again, though he wasn’t sure if he had the energy, nor how wise it would be. It was a desperate measure in the past, when he was sure Sans had burned through his magic after his and Papyrus’ quarrel.

A little healing goes a long way when someone only has 1 HP, though. Carefully, Grillby pulled up Sans’ arm, holding him by the forearm so he could wipe away the foreign magic.

Gold.

Gold, gold, gold.

_What about gold?_

Why was everything a mystery? Why was Papyrus looking up judiciary information? Why so suddenly was Sans incredibly vulnerable to intent?

Carefully, Grillby blew against the wet surfaces of Sans’ bones, making the water that was left behind evaporate. It steamed up in a little wisp, mocking as it was that Grillby’s element couldn’t help in its stead. He dragged the damp cloth over Sans’ ribs, his eyes skirting with the view of his soul naked behind them.

Then abruptly, he tore his gaze away. It wasn’t right to stare. Still, he had to lean in closer to exhale against Sans’ chest, the remnants of water steaming away with his presence. Fortunately, the heat did wonders to dry the bed as he clumsily worked with the washcloth.

Though there was a smudge here or there, a trace or two that he couldn’t quite pick up (like it was nicked into the bone?), Grillby managed to get Sans’ arms and ribs cleaned. Sans’ hands held the worst of it, having caught the outspill as it had happened. Apart from being unable to reach into the rims further into Sans’ eye sockets, Grillby was satisfied with his progress, as long as it took him. The bowl of water, on the other hand, looked like panned copper, turned rusty with his low light.

He was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally too. Grillby slouched, took off the gloves from his hands, ignoring the sting when a droplet or two fizzed against his fingers like oil on a hot skillet. It didn’t matter much; they were less than finger-shaped anyway and would heal in no time.

He had to take care of himself, so he focused on Sans. Sans, who hadn’t said a peep, hadn’t moved as he slept, who worried him beyond all reason. Grillby pulled him up to cradle in an arm as he adjusted the fresh button-down shirt onto the bed so he could re-dress the skeleton.

Keep him warm. Keep him safe.

Grillby dropped a kiss to Sans’ skull, just holding him. He needed a moment to himself, secure in his arms. Grillby’s mind continued to swim around what he should do versus what he was told to do, and he ended up deciding that it probably wouldn’t hurt for Sans to be given aethers. If memory served him, there were kinds that could be administered orally, though he wasn’t sure if it would work while Sans was unconscious.

He wanted to keep him close, to keep him warm. Grillby spread his fingers flat against Sans’ chest, the breastbone, gliding his thumb affectionately as though to soothe from a pain that he couldn’t detect. Then, pushing out what little magic that he could muster, Grillby sent a healing pulse straight to Sans’ soul.

The telltale glow from under his ribs was enough to know that Sans was still sleeping, but since Grillby couldn’t Check him, he decided that rest was the best recourse until the doctor returned. He lay Sans back down onto the open button-down shirt and adjusted how Sans’ skull lay, comfortable and angled just so on the flat pillow. Then he carefully guided each arm into the sleeves, taking his time to do up the buttons and pushing heat into the cloth.

He held Sans’ hand, the pads of Grillby’s fingers gently rubbing over the pebbly bones in his wrist. He conveyed comfort and healing, wishing with all his being that Sans would be better.

Eventually, he sank down next to Sans and curled up against him, protective of him even as he drifted off. He left his glasses on, watching as small tufts of ash littered around them. The stress was getting to him, but Grillby didn’t think the click of the door opening would make him jump as much as it did.

The diamond head nurse was the one to return, arms full of flame-retardant clothes and bedding. Grillby pushed himself up, no longer having the energy to worry about the state of the bed, but a brief look down confirmed that he’d at least been asleep long enough to singe the cloth next to Sans’ head.

He was silently bid to remove himself from the bed while they replaced the linens and gestured pieces of conversation Grillby couldn’t focus on. He didn’t realise that they’d brought a cart with them, instead moving around like everything was routine and practised to a fault. They cleaned and replaced the linens made for fire monsters, quickly folded the old ones and placed them on their cart. They adjusted Sans’ pillow and went back to bring more, cushioning the skeleton so that there was no mistake that he would be comfortable. They also handed over something to replace the gold-soaked shirt that stuck to Grillby’s back, inferring that he change.

That was a little more difficult to deal with, but Grillby was too tired to argue. There was little else he could do apart from keep a watch over Sans.

A hum like rising electricity came from over his shoulder. Grillby sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thoughts, and he’d missed the first few attempts that the diamond head monster tried to converse with him. So naturally they had tried to use the limited language that they could manipulate, a sheer resonance that rung throughout the facets and patterns of their head.

Grillby didn’t understand what it meant, but it drew his attention.

The patterns in their facets shifted from murky orange to blue, zig zags and wavy lines. Then they gestured. _‘Food for you. Aethers for patient?’_

Grillby glanced down to Sans, sleeping a little unsoundly where he lay. He couldn’t heal him. Grillby was far too exhausted, and he wasn’t quite sure what needed healing. The burn of his values and the gold ochre liquid were concerning, but he didn’t know what to do with it.

 _“Have… you seen this before?”_ he asked quietly. _“Is that why… you offer nothing to help him?”_

They tried gesturing again, though had to regain his attention. Their facets swirled into deeper hues of dark green and mottled blue. _‘Have never seen. Difficult to say. Diagnosis unclear.’_

 _“He is not dying,”_ Grillby insisted, weary.

 _‘Perhaps. Unclear to judge. Preliminary Check very…’_ They paused, clearly hesitant. Their facets moved to deep maroon, lightly spotted. _‘Unpromising.’_

Grillby’s soul twisted when he drew meaning from the sign language.

Then, as though it would help, the nurse gestured again, _‘Aethers?’_

Not knowing what else to do, Grillby nodded, wresting his hands over his thighs in order to soothe his worries. When the nurse moved, they did so with purpose, not hesitating to open the cupboards Grillby had been in not too long ago to select a bright blue bag of fluid and some coils of tubing. Grillby almost felt a little ill at the sight of them, like Sans’ aversion to it affected him more than anything else.

Mercy it was that Sans wasn’t awake.

Beside the cupboard was a wheeled hook, which they brought over and affixed the bag to. They prepped everything before they apparently looked down to Sans, like they were gauging where to put it.

Naturally, there wasn’t a place on bone. Not like with fleshy monsters, whose magic could be pierced with the tool to replace what had been lost.

No, with Sans it’d have to be directly connected to the soul. They reached that conclusion between them without words.

Grillby bit the corner of his mouth, knowing it was best for him to unbutton the pyjama top so the lead could be secured. Though Doctor Alphys had done so by inserting it from under Sans’ ribs, the nurse fed the line into the space between his neck and clavicles, then reached under the freespace of Sans’ ribs.

Automatically, like a spore of bruised memories, Grillby automatically focused on the way their faintly concealed hand enclosed Green magic around Sans’ soul, obscuring the light of it as it was pinned in place so they could work.

Grillby couldn’t help but remember the way Sans pushed his hand away from exploring under his ribs on more than one occasion. He also recalled his previous whimpers back at his bar: _‘no more medicine-’_

He slid his hand into Sans’, careful to give him a reassuring squeeze during the procedure. The skeleton shifted slightly in his sleep, brow drawn together like he felt the pinch of the insertion. He was far more tense than before, and Sans swallowed a few times in quick succession, like he was made to drink well beyond what he was capable of holding.

Grillby hummed softly to console him, giving his hand a firm squeeze to convey that he was still there for him. Eventually, Sans’ reflex slowed, and the tension eased from his body.

And still, Grillby couldn’t help but wonder.

Another light hum of electricity drew his attention and the nurse leaned up so they could sign over Sans’ chest, where Grillby’s eyes locked onto. _‘Food for you,’_ they repeated, in case the fire monster hadn’t been paying attention before. _‘Linens, clothes. Other room, bed. Rest.’_

Grillby finally dragged his gaze from the lightly glowing tube that disappeared under Sans’ ribs, then towards the other side of the room and to the door. He wasn’t leaving. He’d already made up his mind.

 _“…Am not leaving him,”_ he declared stubbornly, still clutching Sans’ hand tightly with his own.

They looked almost like they were going to argue - or that they hadn’t expected Grillby to refuse. Whether or not they objected, Grillby didn’t care. He promised Sans that he’d be ok. That they’d be together.

So, he’d rest right there.

Though it was with great apparent reluctance, the nurse left him with clothes and the fire-retardant sheets so he could sleep worry-free. He knew he had to keep tabs on his belongings, so even though they were soiled, after the diamond head monster had left Grillby grabbed Sans’ discarded hoodie and folded it up to hide under the bed, then stripped himself of his soaked and sticky shirt.

He didn’t realise how wan he had become. For a moment Grillby just looked down to his misshapen forearms and how lowly they glowed, like pitiful burning coals. He sighed when he saw the dropping ash, knew he was far too exhausted to argue with anyone anymore. Papyrus would have to understand later.

When he had resituated himself, redressed with his clothing and shoes hidden away, Grillby shot off a quick text to Papyrus, assuring him that they were both alright and that it would be a little longer before they arrived at Haven Housing.

Grillby’s eyes were drifting shut, but he managed to pivot from his spot on the side of the bed to do up a few buttons on Sans’ shirt, allowing space for the tube to pass up around his body. Then he curled down, sinking against the soft mattress with a weariness in his body like he hadn’t felt in years.

He watched Sans’ chest rise and fall, soft breaths a telltale whisper that even in his sleep, Sans was afraid. Grillby splayed a hand over Sans’ ribs, just one more healing pulse to help soothe him, though Grillby honestly wondered if he was doing it for himself more than anything. He kept a weary eye on the screen of his phone, just waiting for the other skeleton’s reply.

When it came in, Grillby was so full of relief and gratitude that he only saw the first few words before he drifted off.

Papyrus (Last message received: 3:23pm);  
\- THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW, GRILLBY!! PLEASE, DO A REST.  
\- I’D COME TO GET YOU TWO BUT THE LABYRINTH HERE IS VERY WINDING AND VARGUS IS VERY PERSISTENT WITH HIS TEA-WIELDING.  
\- TO BE QUITE HONEST, I’M SCARED.  
\- NOT BEING THERE FOR MY BROTHER, I MEAN…  
\- THERE MIGHT’VE BEEN A HANDFUL OF TIMES SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED WHERE I COULD NOT BE THERE FOR HIM, BUT PLEASE TELL SANS AND ASSURE HIM THAT I’M GOING TO SEE HIM AS SOON AS I AM PHYSICALLY ABLE TO!!  
\- AND WHEN YOU GET TO HAVEN HOUSING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  
\- AND WHEN YOU GET TO THE ARCHIVES, CALL ME, AND I WILL GUIDE YOU THROUGH THE LABYRINTH.  
\- THEY’RE QUITE DASTARDLY!  
\- AGAIN,  
\- THANK YOU. YOU ARE A REMARKABLE FRIEND.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grillby is so so tired, and he's still trying to piece things together, as well as stay strong for Sans. :)
> 
> FYI a bit of worldbuilding details that healers are different than designated doctors. Healers rely on intent and soul magic to help other monsters, while doctors have all those fancy instruments and medicines, often speculated because they can't focus their intent.
> 
> ~~sorry this is so late dfhgdfg after RoY ch 8 I needed a little pause on hospital-related stuff :'))~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the throws of panic, Grillby calms Sans' reactions and threatens to burn down a building. Sans gains a new perspective, leading to a whole new understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** aftermath of eye trauma, panic attack, persistent blindness, nausea mention, references to past surgery procedures

Thick and cloying.

There was something to be said about the sounds, the smells, even the taste in the air even though he’d never before had that sense. Sans’ body trembled, held under pressure, warm, light, heavy, soft, tense… He felt everything.

Everything, including the sensation of being too full, like Sans was forced underwater and the pressure filled every cavity in his head.

He was too afraid to open his eyes. Though they were closed, a small trickle leaked out of the corner of his good eye. He wasn’t even sure if he could see after everything that had happened, but a rising panic grew inside of him that maybe he’d have the golden haze for the rest of his life. Even though he could summon eye lights, Sans couldn’t see much more than a listless wash of gold like before he lost consciousness.

It made his soul squeeze, and with it came a gruesome fear that maybe he’d never be able to see again. He wouldn’t see his brother’s cheery face, wouldn’t be able to gauge people’s expressions… and he’d be robbed of the brilliance of Grillby’s flames, the way they shifted and fluttered, changed colours and sparked when he got excited.

Fuck. His eyes were leaking. The pressure in his skull made him ache and his soul was heavy and dense, too full. Even though they - the Judgement - had said they were starved, he felt sick like he had over-eaten.

Which normally only meant one thing.

When Sans cracked open an eye, the world was still a wash of vile yellows and ochre, enough to make his vision obscured and dizzy. He blinked, tears falling as he caught the light from Grillby’s flames nearby, felt his warm embrace, his body as close as anything. There was a soft noise between them, the quiet thrum of the fire monster’s blaze as it sleepily moved.

“s’ok,” Sans murmured to himself, before he realised that his voice was hoarse like he’d been screaming or resisting doing so for hours. He was parched on top of it all, and despite not being able to see, he felt relatively at peace.

Grillby seemed to ease a little more next to him, like for a moment he had woken up when Sans stirred. Blessedly, he didn’t wake up. He needed the rest.

Gradually, the skeleton’s senses started to return to him. He heard soft blips from the monitors in the hall, the hushed mumble of voices in the other rooms. As everything moved in on him, Sans’ throat started to feel tight, making it difficult to breathe. He heard the squeak and scuff of shoes on cold linoleum floors and his soul jumped, fright crawling into his psyche like worms.

Even though he knew it was probably a moot point to try, Sans attempted to search the room for a red and grey blotch of colour that may or may not be his brother. He didn’t recognise any of the shapes, just the dim haze of red curled at his side like a warm blanket.

He didn’t think that he had moved too much, but Sans swallowed, a sharp inhale loud in the silence of the room. Like a ticking bomb, he could feel the slight tug on his soul every time he heard a soft pitter of liquid from higher up. Like it was hanging above him.

_(Easy breaths, ok? Y-you’re doing o-o-ok!)_

This wasn’t Alphys’ lab, he mentally repeated. It wasn’t even her suite. There was an analog clock somewhere in the room that ticked between his breaths, like it was counting down to his next panic attack. Sans shivered despite the warmth, his hands trembling, unable to really feel if Grillby was holding him or if he was starting to shut down.

This was worse than his rebound. Sans could at least see where he was then.

Here, he could’ve been anywhere. The bright lights in the room bloomed over Grillby’s colours like they were trying to wash him away.

_Like he wasn’t really there._

_No, no. Breathe._

Sans sucked in a shuddering breath, squinting his eyes shut. With every inhale, it started to feel like it wasn’t enough, like it wasn’t going to help him if he exhaled all of his worry from his body. He didn’t know how he was doing it, but Sans gulped on the hardness in his chest, his magic both fettering and pulling at the seams to keep himself from flying apart.

“i’m-”

Grillby. Grillby? _Grillby, c’mon._

_(‘I don’t want it--I don’t want more medicine-’)_

_“Easy, Sans.”_

The world’s brightness turned down by bare degrees. For one infantesimal moment, Sans could see the steeped maroon of Grillby’s hand cup his face, the worried flutter of the fire monster’s aura. Sans had stopped breathing to force himself to calm, and Grillby got up to one elbow to help pull Sans against his body.

_“You’re safe. You’re here with me.”_

Sans focused on the softly spoken words like they were a prayer instead, and although he shook like a leaf, Sans nodded against Grillby’s chest. While Grillby murmured kind and comforting things and ushered him to breathe alongside him, Sans couldn’t help but jump with the wriggling vibration in his soul.

_Too full. Too fast._

“feel sick,” he quickly gasped out as he made to lurch himself from the bed. Caught around the middle by Grillby’s arms, Sans was very suddenly aware of something that tugged him up, reversing the orientation of his soul. He felt like the rug had been ripped out from under him.

He shivered a breath and fell back against Grillby, his vision glassy, clouded and bleary. God, if he never saw gold again, he’d never feel luckier to live in the gutter.

His fingers grabbing, searching, Sans found the lead to his soul and froze just as Grillby sought out his hands to make sure he didn’t pull tight on the tubing.

 _“Don’t,”_ Grillby quietly said. Sans made a pitiful noise, his voice shaking like words absolutely failed him. _“I’ll… help you.”_

Sans only made a strangled, terrified noise.

 _“Focus on me,”_ the fire monster said, though his voice was weary. Sans’ mind shot through the panic, the pain, the absolute helplessness that he felt as the aether pumped into his soul. He nearly growled when the space above him seemed to shift, playing on his fears of a man with a split face who held knives instead of pencils.

It was as though he had to endure it all over again and could remember every excruciating detail. Pain radiated all the way up his left eye and curved around his skull, ripping through the seams like the fabric of his body was tissue paper instead of hard bone.

『Carved us from our armour』

It was sheer _agony._ Sans grasped at his face, willing the pain to ease, to fight off the fingers that violated the freespace in his socket as another hand brought the scalpel closer and closer.

_“Sans!”_

With a blink, it was over. It left Sans shaking, curled up into Grillby’s arms and holding him so tightly that Sans thought he’d snap in half. He couldn’t help the fearful noises he made, the wide-eyed stare into the middle distance like suddenly the end of the bed had started to melt.

Sans chattered, gripped tightly to Grillby’s shirt. He couldn’t form the words, chipped from his mouth to fall like pebbles into the sheets.

Grillby couldn’t know what was happening. Sans just shook, feral and afraid, trapped between the present and a memory that was too unspeakable to give words to. He could still feel the slice deep within his skull, the seering ache as the pith was parted and-

『You were powerless』

Deep thoughts pulled from Sans’ body like stolen secrets that even he wasn’t aware of. Treatments to lower his HP, under the guise that it was too high--something about an awareness that manifested too early, made him into a powerhouse that could be useful.

『Seek the King』

If he’d told someone, it wouldn’t have happened…

_“Sans, look at me-”_

If he had only not been so afraid, maybe he could’ve…

 _“Sans,”_ Grillby’s gentle and persistent voice soothed over him, like Sans’ tear-stained face staring blankly back at him was doing no favours. _“I’m here, breathe with me, please.”_

『Seek the King』

Grillby’s breath was so close to him. It was a focal point to divert Sans’ terror, even as he shakily gasped like he wanted to speak.

_Let me out. I want to leave. I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home. I want to see my brother. I want out._

_I want out._

_I need out-_

_“What do you feel?”_ Grillby whispered quickly, and with it came a burst of emotion so sudden that it made Sans flinch. _“Go on, Sans, it’s alright. Here, right now. You can do it.”_

A lot of words.

There were a lot of words that just sounded like Grillby, so warm and comforting that it enveloped Sans like a cosy blanket. It trickled into him like the sunlight perched outside the hole in the mountain. The same one Grillby had shown him weeks ago.

He was scared. He didn’t think that he had said it, but Sans felt a gratuitous throb in his soul like Grillby was proud of him for trying.

_“I know. It’s hard.”_

Nice, easy, simple words. Words Grillby normally didn’t use, like he was thinking fast to help Sans calm down. Like he cared about him. Like the fire didn’t hide what he was trying to say. Sans felt another flutter of helplessness, and Grillby held him like he wasn’t going to let the demons of his past sink their claws into him ever again.

 _“Breathe with me,”_ and with it, a hot gust touched Sans’ wet cheekbone. Sans shivered in a breath, catching it, holding it like a fluttering insect until Grillby exhaled. It burned, not in a good way but not a bad way either. His soul was a steady throb in his chest, achy and tight as it absorbed the aethers. _“Again,”_ the fire monster urged, then inhaled.

Sans’ hands found Grillby’s shoulders, pinning out the shape of him like he’d forget if he didn’t spend every waking hour with him. His breath caught and Sans couldn’t help but sob, gasping out an apology even as Grillby gently soothed him.

It went on, every breath shared close and trembling, until Sans could look up to Grillby’s obscured face: deep orange, healthier than he’d last seen him. He couldn’t stop the tears no matter how much Sans wanted to.

Instead, he sat mostly on Grillby’s lap, upright and held in his arms. There was care to it, not like Sans would break if Grillby was reckless, but more like a tender touch, a soft embrace. Yet it was firm enough to ache, a hug to break him away from all the misery that sprung up on him at once.

The armour had been carved away. Mixed signals and memories from when he had woken, desperate, angry and screaming in the lab after his Fall, jarred Sans’ senses.

_It’s not fair._

Sans covered his face, ignoring the throb from under his ribs. Grillby gave him a little space, though he was never out of arms’ reach. They sat in the middle of the bed, and Sans just kept his face propped in his hand.

There were no words this time. There was just a gentle brush against the exposed part of his face, probably stained gold like the rest of him. When Grillby caressed his cheekbone with the side of his thumb, Sans gave an involuntary little shudder, like it was his body’s last hurrah to break away into panic. Then he let his hand slip and drop to his lap.

“c’n i talk about it later,” Sans tried, but his voice wavered and broke near the end. “i.. i promise. just… just not now.”

Grillby hushed him, not chastising in the least, but Sans felt an overwhelming appreciation when the fire monster wrapped his arms around him fully. Whether or not it came from Grillby or his own self-worth, Sans didn’t know. He just sniffed into the fire monster’s shoulder, curling his shaky fingertips into Grillby’s shirt and inhaling his scent. The gentle hint of smoky cloves hit his senses, and for a moment Sans felt like he could ignore his surroundings.

And behind everything, all the self-horror and confusion, Sans detected anger. He knew it couldn’t possibly be aimed at him, but it gradually radiated from Grillby like he couldn’t keep it back. He tried to divert the fire monster’s attention, patting awkwardly at Grillby’s chest. Grillby only pulled him closer, his embrace tight and full.

“c’n,” Sans tried, and swallowed again. “can you tell me what h-happened?”

Though he knew Grillby had to deal with everything while he was unconscious, Sans knew he had to keep a level head. No matter how much his mind screamed at the back of his skull, no matter the amount of pain from old wounds that cropped up made him flinch from every sound outside of their room. He had to know.

Grillby did sigh then, not like he was impatient or put off, but genuinely tired like it’d been days instead of hours. He eased his embrace a little, though Sans couldn’t help but tuck against him to keep Grillby’s arm over his shoulder. If Grillby held him, nothing bad would happen.

 _“They assessed that,”_ Grillby stopped, clearly hesitant. _“They assessed that you were Falling Down. They ran a test-”_

The whimper that left Sans was unbidden, then he felt sudden shame. He was almost glad he couldn’t see Grillby’s expression, no matter how much he missed it.

 _“They… revealed your values, and assessed that since they were, ah… burned away, they could not help you.”_ The more Grillby spoke, the more that underlying anger seemed to bubble to the surface.

“you’re angry,” Sans stupidly said.

 _“Of course I’m angry,”_ Grillby nearly hissed. Sans knew he wasn’t the intended target, but he flinched anyway. The fire monster seemed to realise that and made a valiant effort to simmer down. _“They do not listen to reason. Are unwilling to ask particulars. Insisted that-”_ Clearly, something had happened while Sans was sleeping. Sans could hear the self-realised failure in Grillby’s voice.

But… had he always been this clear?

 _“You were entirely right. They do not mean to help you. They are content to keep you here until you supposedly pass on,”_ Grillby bitterly spat. _“No physicals, no value control, no magic gaugement. Just… utter imbeciles, every one of them!”_

Sans blinked. While the things that Grillby was saying were pinging off his fears terribly, he was distracted with how the fire monster’s natural timbre rolled off his tongue. Maybe something finally clicked into place with him. Or maybe he was just so close that the rolling heat of fire didn’t stand out so much.

Or maybe he had another perspective..?

Nah, that couldn’t have been it.

Regardless, Sans turned inwards, pulling himself up by Grillby’s shirt. He was trembling, unable to steer himself away from panic, but he definitely felt distracted enough to linger on Grillby’s words.

 _“Take a deep breath,”_ the fire monster urged him, and Sans felt Grillby’s chest rise against the side of his face, a warm and comforting demonstration. Sans inhaled a little too sharply, but he held it until Grillby slowly released his breath. Then he shakily sighed, repeating one more time. _“That’s good.”_

“pap’s waiting,” Sans muttered, vaguely remembering the conversation before he had blacked out. “he’s prob’ly worried… can we go?”

There was a little clip to Grillby’s words like he took it as a challenge. _“I will burn a hole through the wall should you desire to leave now.”_

Sans blinked to himself, unable to decide whether that was sarcasm or if Grillby was passionate for his dislike of the place. He huffed out a quiet laugh anyway, but it still sounded pitiful.

“wh.. where do we go, boss?” Even as Sans said it, he still trembled nervously.

_“Haven Housing. Although…”_

Sans had to rely on his other senses, since the magic in his skull was frayed to the point where it couldn’t focus past the gold. He shuddered when he felt the most miniscule of tugs from under his ribs and figured it was when Grillby touched the tubing connected to his soul.

_“Will they allow you to leave with… this?”_

Sans swallowed, since Grillby lifted it a little, reorienting his soul so it hung neatly in place. He remembered the configuration that Alphys had him hooked up with, woven in and out of his ribs so he couldn’t accidentally (or purposely) tug it away from his body. He shivered a little, and maybe it was enough for Grillby to consider handling the line of aethers after all, since it dropped from his grasp.

“we can just leave with it, yeah,” Sans mumbled through a grimace. “precaution, i think?” His thoughts were getting fuzzy. “feels full.”

 _“I can…”_ Grillby trailed off, like he had begun to offer to remove it. Sans knew that had to be it, otherwise what reason did biled magic start to rise in his false throat? Multiple hands came to mind and with it, Sans clenched his eyes shut again to ward them off.

“leave it,” the skeleton gasped.

Grillby urged him to take another breath, which was getting easier to do. Sans shuddered and hung off Grillby’s arm, wanting both to never move and to get away from this place as quickly as they were able to.

Maybe if he used a shortcut…?

He looked inward, expecting to find nothing again, but he recalled the bisected eye, cyan and gold in perfect symmetry staring back at him. There was nothing accusatory about it, rather more like the entire world was behind it, powerful yet weak.

_You and us. Us and you._

There was too much risk involved, not when he couldn’t see for sure what his HP values were. Not since they disappeared entirely. Sans just sunk against Grillby, finding comfort in the heat, and was able to disconnect a little from the ongoing panic in his mind. He had never felt temperatures before. It was ok. He could stay away from that dark place.

_“Better?”_

Sans nodded against Grillby. He knew better than to apologise, even though Sans felt it wanting to spring forth at every turn. He just turned his head against the curve of Grillby’s torso, the heat from his body soothing and comfortable.

“before,” Sans muttered, “when paps brought me, they didn’t do anything either. let him carry me right out and made a… a mad dash for hotland.”

Grillby didn’t say anything to that, but Sans could detect a small thread of tightness in his chest, of intense sadness. He gave Grillby’s hand on his shoulder a brisk pat.

“welp. i’m still freaking out on the inside but, h-hey-” Sans even attempted to sound cheerful and upbeat, even though the mask was slipping and he had to be seven shades of ugly from being sick. “at least i’m not actually dying.”

Grillby sighed, though this time there was irritation behind it. Sans just let out a half-laugh, bitter and held back.

_“You had a seizure.”_

Sans grimaced. “yeah,” he said softly.

 _“Magic that is not your innate colour is just…”_ Grillby had to have gestured to him, which Sans understood. He didn’t know how to explain it either.

“i know, buddy.”

 _“Your Hp bar. It’s just… gone.”_ Grillby sure sounded upset.

Sans swallowed nervously and nodded, detecting a slight swirl of liquid remaining in his skull. “i’m scared too.”

Silence fell over them. As much as Grillby tensed, Sans just pushed an arm around Grillby’s waist so he could remain close.

“haven housing,” Sans murmured against his chest after a long moment.

 _“Yes.”_ There was uncertainty behind that one word, one that rocked Sans straight to his core.

“how far are we.” It was barely a question, more of a hazed assessment. Grillby, thankfully, squeezed his body. “from here, i mean.”

Grillby considered it. As he did, Sans opened his eyes to the blurred shape on his chest, taking note of how dark the mass was. It was deep maroon, orangey blurs floating around the dense shape of Grillby’s hand. He was probably still tired.

 _“A forty minutes’ walk from here, possibly.”_ Grillby did sound exhausted, like the slow moment was giving his body a reason to crash. On top of everything else, guilt rode shotgun in Sans’ head, poking at his wretched self-worth as once again, Grillby was overworking himself to help him.

Just like before.

Just like when he was selfish and secretive, and Grillby had gotten seriously ill as a result.

“will,” Sans stopped and swallowed, fighting a wave of dizziness that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “will the attendant come back?” It was easier not to say doctors, or nurses, or anyone else that would remind Sans that he was in a clinic, a _hospital._ He wanted to keep memories of scalpels and the scent of raw magic out of his head.

As though Grillby read his mind, he shook his head. _“Told me to rest. We have time. I… have a feeling they will not be checking in so often after their… assessment.”_

In normal circumstances, that should’ve meant bad news that the doctors had given up on Sans. Now, he took comfort in the fact that they could rest for just a little longer. It meant that they could slip away and seek help elsewhere.

Like his strength was waning, Sans leaned against Grillby, feeling foolish and helpless.

He knew he had to tell someone about the Judgement that he shared the shadows of his soul with. He just wasn’t sure how Grillby would take it on top of everything else that was happening. There was still the matter of getting to Papyrus, explaining it all, and meeting the king at its request.

“you sound tired,” Sans murmured hypocritically after awhile, even as his eyes drooped heavily. Grillby just hummed as he stroked his skull, gently thumbing his favourite vertebra in soothing circles. It made the tension gradually slide out of Sans’ back, though his soul still clenched like a fist, heavy in his chest. “lay down, firefly.”

Grillby did as he was bidden without protest, but his glow brightened considerably. Even in their direst moment, he responded positively to Sans’ pet name, coaxed to relax as warm hands moved Sans down to the bed, cautious and nurturing. Sans’ breath stuttered when Grillby didn’t immediately join him, blind to what he was doing before he settled beside him. A sheet draped over them, insulating Grillby’s modest heat.

It was quiet, the outside world muted by Grillby’s gentle flames. Sans curled up next to him, a shadow of an echo of the first time they lay in bed together, several months ago. He curled his hand between their chests, relaxing when Grillby’s hand nestled just over his hip like it had always belonged there.

“you’d really burn down the wall for me?” Sans whispered, pretending it was just them, alone in Grillby’s suite, when all he had to worry about was the opinion of others if they’d ever find out his secret. For once, the small brush of fingertips to his lower spine didn’t make him jolt like an electric shock.

Instead, he felt the warm gust of Grillby’s breath touch his face like a beam of sunlight, warming him through the soft intimacy of it. He felt safe, even though it was selfish.

 _“I’d burn entire buildings down for you,”_ Grillby vowed, his voice bare through his fire but just as clear.

As cheesy as it sounded, it honestly suited Grillby. Though his magic wasn’t cooperating, Sans flushed a little with the fire monster’s soft hum. “glow bright, firefly,” he whispered right back. “maybe i’m being s.. sentimental, but… i’m glad you’re here.” _‘with me’_ locked in his throat. If Sans finished the thought, he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears.

Grillby hummed again, pushing his hand to Sans’ back to bring him closer, a small, fragile happiness in his voice when he murmured back, _“Maybe I’m sentimental as well… since I am glad to be with you. No matter what happens.”_

Sans closed his eyes tightly so the complicated mix of guilt and affection wouldn’t war too much together. As though Grillby felt it, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Sans’ skull, nuzzling in close to ensure that Sans was surrounded, protected, and _cherished._

And beyond it all remained that promise that Grillby would look out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the hurt/comfort part of the arc. I like it a lot and it's indulgent as fuck. We gain insight to Sans' past treatments in snapshots. As you can probably tell, I adore this kind of trope. :')
> 
> An OC is introduced in the next chapter!!
> 
> I'm sorry for the wait. If you like it, please let me know, as comments fuel my imagination, and are vastly appreciated. ♥


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby takes Sans away from the clinic and to where Papyrus had urged him to go. Sans finally gets some treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s):** aftermath of eye trauma, persistent blindness, drugged state, references to past surgery procedures, surgery(?) while awake

What Grillby said held true. The orderly did not check in as they had before Sans’ assessment. Though it was relatively restless for Sans, Grillby was either able to remain asleep the entire time because he was so exhausted, or simply because he didn’t share the trauma Sans did in hospital beds. Regardless, he held onto Sans in his sleep, a gentle weight to his body as his breaths gusted across Sans’ cheek, soothing sounds of his low fires a stunning calm when Sans’ mind recoiled at the noises in the rooms beyond.

Sure, the noises of the clinic got to him, but not as much as before. The weight in his soul distracted Sans enough not to focus on things, as it made his magic watery and thin, overfull like a brimming cup. As unpleasant as it was, it ensured he had the strength to move since he wasn’t able to eat. At the very least, thanks to the aether, he didn’t feel hungry.

He tried throughout the slow, long hours to ping his stats. Every time they came up empty, a bloated curl that accompanied it like poking at a sore bruise. Sans grew increasingly worried the more time went on, unable to sleep, fearful for the dreams he’d conjure when his mind went blank.

The judgement was entirely silent. He wasn’t sure if he should attempt to question it, not when they had expressed themself so… exhausted and injured, just as he was. No, he was better off trying to grab some much needed sleep.

In all, Sans probably got around two hours of rest off and on, to Grillby’s five hours. Sans only woke from bleary, headachy sleep when the fire monster raised his head, pulling him against his body as he stretched. For once, Sans could ignore their surroundings, content to let his mind’s lie play out for as long as he wanted.

Then, of course, his soul would protest at the cord that led to the bag, restricting his comfort by unbearable degrees as it emptied.

Grillby was slow to rise, but he eventually, reluctantly did. Sans could feel every bit of tension, no matter how much the fire monster reined it in. Still, Grillby pulled their clothes from under the bed, dressed, and bent over to kiss Sans again.

 _“Your clothes are… still soaked,”_ he apologised, keeping his voice low and comforting. _“Bear with it a little while longer. I’ll see about getting something in the meantime for you to wear should we cross any vendors on the way.”_

Sans nodded to himself. While he hadn’t gotten that much sleep, he still felt a little better. He couldn’t see what Grillby was doing, but the fire monster guided him up to a sitting position and helped him dress. Though his old familiar clothes were a little chilly, Grillby wrapped him in the sheet for the residual warmth. It helped to keep Sans feeling safe.

Then there was the matter of the IV. It was out of the question to bring the pole along with them, so Grillby simply unlooped it as carefully as he could, keeping a hand on Sans’ shoulder to steady him. Sans knew the moment he touched it, as the fluid that trickled into his soul suddenly felt pleasantly warm, bringing on a full body shudder.

 _“Alright..?”_ Grillby enquired inquisitively. His hand was a warm and familiar weight on Sans’ shoulder. Uneasily, Sans nodded. _“Then… Come, now.”_

With the aether packed away into a pocket of his hoodie, Sans kept the sheet wrapped around him to his chest as Grillby gathered him into his arms. A rush of shame entered his head, fleetingly making him bitter to his whole condition. Sans knew that it wasn’t fair, but it was also unfair to himself. He hadn’t the strength to walk, otherwise he would. Grillby was his only option if he wanted out.

“just gonna close my eyes,” he mumbled, turning his face towards Grillby’s chest. “i’m not gonna make trouble. just… just tell `em that you want to bring me home. they, uh… they won’t argue too much.”

He felt Grillby’s nod more than his words, but his flames yearned towards him, a hazy flow of burnt sienna oranges and bloomed-out rusty reds. His colouring looked healthier than before, but Sans knew better than to think that he was ok. Grillby needed a lot of rest. He could feel it in the subtle tremble of his arms and the slower than sure footsteps that he took.

The metallic tang of the foreign magic clung to them like acrid smoke. As Grillby moved, Sans lay his head against his shoulder, cradled in his arms. True to form, the staff only enquired as to where Grillby was taking him, asking him to confirm a few things. They didn’t order the return of their equipment, citing that the population’s palliative care plan covered it.

Sans could hear Grillby swallow, could feel the tension slide back into his body like he wanted to thrash out and yell, but Grillby kept relatively cool. Though he knew that nothing would come of it, Sans couldn’t help the tremors in his body, the shaky little breaths when the tension lifted from the air and were replaced by the sounds of the street.

The sterile bloom of the lighting around them changed, though that’s all that Sans saw. He had no concept of time, couldn’t gauge whether the false weather in New Home meant that it was dawn or dusk. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the sure pulse of Grillby’s flames and his soul. He wrested comfort from the sound, trying not to fall trap to the guilt that lay deep within his own soul.

The songs of the day strummed around them. The streets were loud, crowded and felt tight, though Grillby kept strong throughout it all. Sans hid his face, kept his eyes closed and his breathing in shivery, short gusts until Grillby murmured that it was alright, that he was safe. Occasionally, the further into town that Grillby travelled, the more aimless pings started to glance off Sans; small fleeting Checks, worried hushes around him wondering what was wrong.

He swallowed hard, trying not to remember. He didn’t want to remember when Papyrus ran through the city with him clutched tightly to his chest, Checks glancing off him like blows when he was Falling. Sans shivered, pulling the sheet and the lapel of Grillby’s jacket closer to him.

 _“Almost there,”_ Grillby whispered assuringly. His arms tightened fractionally around Sans’ weary body. _“You’ll be alright, Sans. Believe me?”_

Sans nodded against him, trusting him with all his soul. As much as he felt ill, the bag hung in a way that didn’t drain as much into him as before. It was to his relief when he turned his hand into his hoodie, finding that it was nearly empty if the push of the bladder was anything to go by. He sighed softly, a murmured thanks buried into Grillby’s chest.

The scenery changed somewhat as Grillby grew to climbing a hill. The capital was littered with small humps of roads the further north one went, and the brick-layed paths and streets turned to worn cobblestone. Sans could hear the difference in Grillby’s steps, weary and uneven, and it was like a knife had been driven into his chest.

“grillb,” he murmured, half-slurred from the medication. “grillb, wait.”

Grillby stopped and adjusted his hold on Sans, no doubt looking down at him. Sans offered him a meagre grin, but it fit as poorly as his last one.

“c’mon, man. you’ve b.. been walkin’ forever. time to sit for a spell.”

Grillby gusted a sigh, out of either impatience or fatigue, Sans could no longer tell. It seemed like the more time that passed, the less sensitive to intent that he became. Either that, or the medication was starting to numb him.

_He didn’t want more medicine._

_“Ten minutes,”_ Grillby reluctantly agreed. Sans pushed aside the intrusive thought and tried to relax, though he would’ve been ok with a longer break.

Once the fire monster had found an area to sit in, Sans grew more aware of his surroundings. It felt a little familiar, the scent of dewy grass that quickly evaporated when Grillby sat down, the gentle breeze that wafted down from the cavernous ceilings. In the distance there were chimes, hollowed out wooden knocks that played with the air sent in from the surface. It was a good area to sit.

“how far now?” Sans asked, if only to distract Grillby from over-analysing things in his head.

 _“Up the hill. Perhaps ten minutes. I am… slower than usual. Forgive me.”_ Grillby did sound tired.

Sans patted his chest from under the sheet, his soul clenching with the cocktail of sorrow-guilt-shame that briefly flared up from the fire monster’s aura. He was rewarded with a shift in the way Grillby held him, then a gentle caress to his face.

Sans wanted to ask Grillby if he thought that he’d get better. He wanted to hear if Grillby believed that he’d get his sight back.

But there were no fake platitudes. Only silent comfort. Sans sighed, just attempting not to crumble and break down again.

“you don’t got anything to be sorry for,” Sans said after a tense minute. “if i don’t, you sure as hell don’t. just…” He struggled with the wording for what seemed like a long time. “just… whatever they want in there..? don’t… don’t let me go it alone, please..?”

He couldn’t believe how pitiful that sounded.

 _“I am not letting you go,”_ Grillby affirmed, stroking Sans’ skull with his fingers. His flames whispered to him in the same breath as his next words; _“I’m here for you.”_

_Love you. Want you safe. Happy._

Sans sucked in a shivered breath at the warmth behind that sentiment, buried in flames and devotion so much he could bask in it. He almost whimpered, halting it before it passed his teeth.

_Love you, too._

It was quiet, but Sans tasted the words on his tongue as he breathed it out. They were a few crackled words that broke off into its own sentence, causing Grillby to flush warmly, to bring him up and hold his face to his own. Sans’ soul felt as though it would swell, sensitive to the unbridled love Grillby poured into the gesture.

He was so thankful that he was there.

When Grillby was done with his break, he gathered Sans in his arms again to finish his trek up the hill. At the summit stood a wide square building that stretched out in a long mile, covered in moss that bloomed with tiny flowers and weeds. Though Sans couldn’t appreciate the homey sight, he could detect the sweet bouquet as Grillby ducked under the low doorway after a gentle knock to its frame.

It smelled like home.

Not Home, which lay in the ruins to the southwest, but home as Sans knew it. Soft, warm spices, fruity nightshades and the dish soap they had in their kitchen. The rich notes he detected in Grillby’s cellar, the oaky hints of wine and beer. There was a crisp, clear scent that reminded him of ice, something that made his magic latch onto, sweet and pure.

It was comforting. As much as he was dreading it, this didn’t feel like another clinic. It was like a greenhouse, dense, warm and humid on the inside, probably covered in plants… and here Grillby was in the middle of it, a fire hazard.

Despite it all, Sans hummed contentedly to himself, drawing Grillby’s attention. He sensed the confusion, the gentle enquiry as to how Sans was feeling. He nodded gently, relaxing in the fire monster’s arms. The place definitely had an aura of peace about it.

“Welcome. Welcome!” sang a voice from further in. Grillby tensed, though mostly from surprise than from any imminent danger. “Come in. Come in! Towards the back, if you will!”

Grillby obliged, his steps slow and careful. Sans could judge the area by the flames around them - he felt their need to branch out, to touch, to see if it burned and how quickly if it did. He assumed it meant that there was a lot of vegetation around, which made his soul kind of spark like an old plug.

Sans’ body felt dense and heavy as Grillby moved. Some steps were lower, then higher, like the floor was uneven in places or that there were stairs. He continuously tried to paint a mental picture in his head of the place as Grillby navigated it, urged forward by the pleasant, welcoming voice from the back of the house.

He knew that Grillby was shy around strangers. In fact, he’d only caught a few words here or there when the fire monster argued with the staff in the place before. Carefully, Sans opened an eye as though he fully expected to see what was happening, but he was met with Grillby’s low bloom of colour. That was all.

“so far so good?” he asked softly.

Grillby’s flames answered for him, the gentle surge of affirmation relatively soothing. Sans relaxed, nearly boneless in the fire monster’s arms. He wasn’t even sure if he could still feel his legs.

“ok,” Sans sighed, the equivalent of _I trust you_ in his whole soul beating through his temples. Grillby reciprocated the notion with half a squeeze, making Sans grunt softly.

Grillby continued on into the house. As slowly as he went, there must’ve been a lot of vegetation to be mindful of, unless the floor was made of unsure footing, or a combination of the two. He eventually passed a wider door frame, noted by Sans only since he didn’t have to stoop down.

Then there came confusion, an alarm and even concern that shuddered throughout Grillby’s body like a silent claxon. It shook Sans, enough to unwind any amount of relief that he might’ve felt before this all started.

It was confusing, to be sure. Grillby’s body vaulted with heat like a warning, the residual concern making Sans lock up like a safe. He froze, eyes widened like he’d be able to see something if he just stared hard enough into the bleary void in front of him. The flames around him danced, jagged and hard, unable to form cohesive thought or words beyond vague meanings.

_Gone? There? Last one - but?_

_Do not understand._

_Last?_

_Fire. Safe._

_But? Bone?_

But..? If Grillby’s flames didn’t know what to make of what they encountered, then how was Sans to know how to react? He trembled even as Grillby eased and slinked off to the side, wary and controlled in his movements. A hazy peach stood off in the distance, like when Sans had seen Grillby from far away, a bloom of warmth that shifted and changed with every breath he took.

_Bone? Fire?_

_Fire? Bone?_

_Last?_

_Star? Safe. Bone? Bone. Safe?_

The flames didn’t make any sense, their meanings so convoluted and strange that it was starting to make Sans feel ill. He shut his eyes, unable to decipher their meanings beyond what he heard, just questions, questions, like it didn’t make _sense._

“Hello! Welcome, come on in. I am Hanley. No doubt my appearance is a little… startling?”

Grillby’s perplexion seeped into Sans so much it felt infused with his very bones.

_“Skeleton..?”_

Sans knew that it wasn’t Papyrus. It wasn’t his brother, whose aura and voice was so booming and in control that this stranger’s gentle timbre felt like whiplash. They were homey and sweet, a soft lilt to their voice like they belonged in water but lived in the stale streets of New Home.

“Afraid not,” the one named Hanley said placidly. “Not a lot of those to be around for a long time yet, apart from your friend, there. Who looks…” Sans could almost hear the grimace in their voice. “Worse… for wear?”

That was certainly a way to put it. Grillby was obviously struggling with himself, likely wondering if he should ask, though was too polite in the end to do so. Sans could detect the light and the colour, but he couldn’t smell the distinct iron-like warmth of bone.

It was as though they were somehow fake. But at the same time, Grillby breathed out, shocked beyond everything, _“Flame?”_

“A _shifter_ class subset, if you must know,” they replied jovially. “A nasty habit that I just can’t seem to shake! Allows me to change into whichever species is around at the time. Hence the distance from town - and the profession! I am a healer. I specialise in magical anomalies and Intent-based soul structure.” They paused, like they were trying to get closer to see who Grillby held in his arms, but alarm still radiated off the fire monster along with waves of heat. “Do be nice, I really do not mean any harm to your friend. I assume that’s why you came here, correct?”

Grillby was stubborn and protective, but he wasn’t stupid enough to reject help when he desperately needed it. There was a bloom of fierce yearning so badly that it made Sans almost whimper with how protective Grillby was to see that Sans would be better again. It almost seemed too good to be true.

But then again… Papyrus told them to come here. Papyrus knew his stuff, whether or not Sans wanted to believe otherwise. He just had to get over his stranger complex, one that apparently had the shape of both a skeleton and a fire monster. If anything, Hanley offered a safe place in a place where they could hide and recover. Then…

Well, then Sans didn’t know what to do. He was pretty sure that Grillby didn’t either, running on barely any food and very little sleep. Coupled with everything else, Sans wasn’t sure if he could take anything else life threw at him.

It was then that Sans realised that Grillby had locked up with the stranger’s enquiry. He burned a little hotter than normally, causing Sans to sigh out for relief. He didn’t feel anything from the healer, no animosity nor indifference. They were clear of emotion. He wasn’t sure if it was because they dealt with intent on a daily basis, or simply that they remained unsure about Grillby’s reactions.

“grillb,” Sans tried softly. His voice was raspy and weak, drained and groggy. He was still scared, but this wasn’t a hospital. No scalpels. No needles. Homeopathy treatment and magical arts. That’s what _healers_ were. “trust `em, k?”

Grillby gaze shot down to him, his flames unbunching from around them enough so Sans could breathe. The healer then sighed, their footsteps the unmistakable sound of bone on stone. It made a traitorous shiver branch up Sans’ spine.

While Grillby didn’t make a sound, the pops of his flames were rebuking, distrustful, but he moved. Hanley led him into another room, cooler and more open, if Sans could accurately judge by Grillby’s flames. He had opened his eyes again, as though he could distinguish where they were through the hazy washed out watercolour pictures.

If Sans could see, he would’ve been able to pinpoint the look Grillby shot him, tired desperation and uneasy control slipping through his fingers. The medication that had been fed into his soul made Sans’ mind fuzzy. He was unable to really pick up on emotions and intent, save for in passing like a train speeding by a lone prairie tree.

He wasn’t sure why that came to mind, but he trusted Grillby to protect him. Him, with his 1 HP, his hidden stats and his burned right side. His aching shoulder. His skull thick with foreign magic, his toes so numb he could barely feel them. Sans was glad that Grillby was there for him, even as he moved to a bed Hanley indicated down the blurry path.

“There are no other patients here at the moment. We have full privacy. Lay him down here.”

 _Him._ They knew. As though distantly, Sans’ soul gave a hopeful squeeze as Grillby sat on the edge of the bed and laid him down. Sans’ body was limp like he barely had any energy to move at all.

“Interesting colour,” they observed, though it was idle curiosity. Hanley didn’t speak with detached scepticism like the doctors had. “His innate?”

Grillby had trouble finding the words. Sans probably guessed that it was due to his promise that he wouldn’t betray his secrets, that he would keep them until the day he dusted. They wouldn’t get anywhere with that kind of attitude, but Sans couldn’t force out the words. He stared listlessly at the ceiling, partially aware of the hazy green-white-amber glows that bled around the edges of his vision like running ink.

Finally, Grillby spoke. _“No.”_ It was a mild surprise considering how terrified he was, but Sans could feel the echo of it, detached and far away when Grillby clasped his hand. _“Not sure what happened. He seized, started bleeding this substance. He’s had consciousness since then. Told me his symptoms. He’s… much quieter now.”_

The fire monster stopped. He seemed to reconsider his words, then he explained what he knew to the best of his ability. Sans lay, detached and floating in his own mind, thinking about the white-hot fingertips that laced across his skull, sharp and precise. He thought about the splitting headache and the coppery tang in his mouth when he had first started to bleed the golden liquid.

He tried to push out the word _judgement_ like it would help, but it barely burbled past his teeth.

“Where did you go before?” Hanley asked, taking over to relieve Sans from his soiled clothes. They uncovered the nearly empty bag of aethers and sighed quietly, as though they had guessed right and was disgusted by the revelation. Sans felt the slippery enquiry onto his soul, lithe and gentle, barely there. He groaned softly in protest. “No HP bar. Interesting, but not fatal. At a glance, his soul seems relatively stable.”

Grillby released a sigh as though he’d been holding it ever since he had stopped talking. _“A relief, that.”_

Hanley didn’t speak for awhile. If Sans could see them hovering over him, he’d be able to see the skeletal mask floating in front of their elemental face shift to flames the closer they moved to Grillby, then back to bone when they returned to Sans. It created a small flickering light show that was comforting. They were calm despite everything. In turn, the bubble-like serenity that had fallen over Sans returned.

Hanley spoke a lot quieter then. “The clinic you went to… gave him numbing aethers in addition to supplicants. Now, it’s typical since what you said holds true - they didn’t expect him to live but they did intend for him to be comfortable. Sans is in an in-between state right now, so I cannot gain his permission, though he should still be aware. Will you allow me to help?”

There was no shortness of hesitation when Grillby breathed, _“Of course.”_

Sans could only just barely feel Grillby squeeze his hand before he stood and rounded the bed so the healer could look him over unimpeded. His body felt wide, on the whole not unpleasant, like his first warm bath after discovering temperatures, or holding a hot cup of coffee with his cold hands after a long shift. They exuded calm, turning the process into a peaceful visit. Grillby hung at his shoulder, now kneeling at the side of the bed, taking care to push reassurance into the meagre connection.

Carefully, his arms were removed from his hoodie. Then the button-up shirt from the clinic was undone, mindful of the tubing. Sans wasn’t sure if he could feel any heat from this fire monster, but Hanley’s touch was light and efficient. He barely felt it when his soul was surrounded with Green magic and the connector was carefully pulled free. His soul fluttered at the emptiness the insert left behind. It made Sans a little light-headed.

“Are you still with us, Sans?” Hanley asked him suddenly. They hadn’t addressed him directly until that point, and Sans’ head was like it was stuffed with cotton. Once or twice, he tried to open his mouth to speak, but outside of merely thinking the words, Sans couldn’t say a thing.

Not to say that he didn’t feel scared, it was just a calmer kind of fear. He scraped by on energy sapped by the medication, giving one industrious nod. It was barely a twitch.

“Good,” Hanley said, relieved. “You’re going to be awake for this. You probably feel light-headed and numb, but you should still feel echoes while I work. Don’t push back at them, I’m here to help. I’ll be doing a preliminary Check on your body, not your soul, alright?”

Sans’ eye lights guttered slightly as he tried to fight the medication so he could move more, but he only gave another weak nod. Oddly enough, the lingering memories of his past only hummed at the back of his mind, not giving shape nor form. They just amassed in a greyish blob somewhere where he couldn’t detect it.

Grillby’s warm hands clasped his left hand tightly, dragging his attention back to the people who were taking care of him.

Briefly enamoured by the twin lights hovering above him, Sans wondered what Grillby thought about this. Then his mind would drift away, distracted by the roads that led to memories he thought he had forgotten.

The lights above him were nice, swimming above him like mushroom gnats above a pond. Once or twice, Sans had fallen into shallow pools and had even sunk below to see what it was like. It made it difficult to breathe, as he wasn’t a gilled monster, but filtering magic through water was hard, so he had resurfaced.

He wondered what would’ve happened if Grillby hadn’t saved him all those months ago.

Probably a whole lot less than what did. His delayed growth. His blooming crush for Grillby. The attempts on his life…

Becoming close to Grillby was probably the thing he would’ve missed the most. That despite it all, Grillby loved him with his flaws, his low defense, his selfish nature. Maybe after all this, he’d keep trying a little more to be better. Just like his brother.

He stuttered a breath, remembering something. It coursed through Sans like a spark of life, a winched intensity throbbing at his right shoulder. Shit, he had thought that Grillby healed that. He guessed that old scars really did burn after all that had happened. Hanley lingered on it, though Sans could hear their gentle soothing voice from beyond the warm bubble.

“Live wounds… Will have to tend to those. And these are prosthetics..? Oh, no, just the right. Interesting… though they seem corrupted and old. You will need to dismiss them.”

Dismiss them. Sans didn’t even remember how to make them in the first place. He had made them, conjured them with his magic with Alphys’ aid, and promptly adapted to them after the searing pain had ebbed away. He would’ve rather forgotten that they weren’t a true part of him. Especially with Grillby there to overhear.

 _He wouldn’t judge,_ he kept reminding himself. Grillby was good.

Regardless, his body was a puppet. It was easy to coax his right arm from its socket, even despite the shivering breath he took. Grillby’s familiar touch lay against his face, distantly warm and intensely soothing.

“He’s still sensitive to Intent, like you’ve reported,” the healer said to Grillby. “He’s very calm. Good job. You’re keeping steady yourself. He’s soothed by you.”

Grillby made him feel warm. He made Sans feel like he was important. _Grillby_ felt important by making Sans calm. Sans could definitely detect that, even through the medicine-induced haze.

The healer’s touch was cool, not like fire at all. They only mimicked the species around them, though when they touched him, Sans tried again.

“pap…” They should call Papyrus to let him know where they were, shouldn’t they?

Grillby’s flames popped, but it was the sound of a humming fireplace, no words hidden within it. Sans’ body sunk against the soft mattress like he’d drift away if they weren’t careful.

 _“I’ll contact him soon,”_ Grillby assured him, still stroking his skull.

Sans could feel Hanley’s touch go lower, drifting past his hip and thigh to his knee. Internally, he was aware of what would happen, though he swallowed anyway like it would help dissolve the strange sensation of being taken apart.

“I’m going to remove this prosthetic, alright? Just temporarily, until we have you all sorted. They’re diverting energy that’s better off being conserved when I will heal you.”

Although he understood, a shudder rippled throughout Sans. Though it didn’t hurt, his body performed his anxiety for him, coaxing his nerves to drift along, weightless and free. Only a slight alarm bled through Grillby’s feelings, betrayed by the way his fingers twitched. Sans barely felt it. In all honesty, it was a relief. Deliriously, he wondered what would happen if Hanley tried to remove his good limbs too.

They wouldn’t. They were in the business of putting people back together, not taking them apart.

Still, it didn’t stop Sans from swallowing again. Just as when he’d lost his lower leg to the currents of Waterfall, a tingling jumped the ghost connection to his kneecap and his shoulder’s socket when Hanley set them together like a couple of macabre sticks.

Grillby had the sense to keep quiet, though Sans idly wondered if he was reminded of their journey through Waterfall, too.

“It appears that the dismissal of your prosthetics isn’t required. Only for them to be detached. Don’t worry, they’re safe.”

The healer went back to his skull. Fortunately for Sans, he didn’t have a physical eye. The eye light he summoned for sight was more out of decoration and habit than anything else. Still, they leaned in close, their peachy flames unnaturally quiet as their appearance took on a more bony look.

“I need to look inside your head, Sans.”

Sure, just take a gander, he thought. He opened his eyes a little more, permanently blind in the right, blurred in his remaining. His magic shuddered, sensing a stranger so close. He was beginning to get nervous, his breaths tight.

“Sir,” Hanley turned to Grillby, whose grip had gradually stiffened on Sans’ left hand. “You need to be calm.”

Yeah, Grillby. _Glow,_ Sans thought at him, trying to show him how easy it could be. It was a strange sensation to be on the clock while he was a bystander in his own body. It was much different than when he’d approached Papyrus in their encounter. It was less threatening, for one.

Sans realised that his body had tensed by bare degrees and now it was unlocking, gradually easing back into the soft covers of the bed. Maybe Grillby had calmed down after all, gentled by Hanley’s reassuring, soft voice. They hummed to themself, quiet and steady as they peered into Sans’ right eye socket.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad, Sans rescinded. Maybe he should’ve done this a long time ago. Just had a look, like Alphys had suggested, but instead he had allowed his trauma to reign over his life.

Sans’ soul started to beat harder the closer the healer got to his face, tilting his skull with their false-bone fingers. There was still a bit of liquid within its cavity, sloshing around and coating the porous surface within. The sickly feeling returned, but Sans tried to ignore it for the moment.

“I’m going to get you cleaned up.”

It sure was nice of them to include him in the procedure, Sans observed. He doubted he’d be able to withstand this sobre, that’s for sure. The thought alone made a brief shiver travel up his spine, nestling behind the base of his skull. Then they simply withdrew, stood, and went away for a bit.

 _“You’re doing great.”_ Grillby took his chance to lean over Sans and kissed his brow. _“Very brave. Extremely… good.”_

Sans huffed out a soft laugh despite himself. Grillby’s fingers curled against his cheek, lush and warm. Sans almost felt as though he had the strength to nuzzle him back. He didn’t, but the sentiment was there.

His thoughts began to wander. Whether it was because Grillby had a hard time focusing through his fatigue, or simply because the similarities were too much, Sans began to recall several scenes from his early childhood. They painted in swathes of white, grey and blue, a myriad of colours that drew his attention away from the scarred face in front of him.

He thought of a knife - a scalpel - brought close to his face, his head held down with a strap. It wasn’t comfortable. He was drugged. He barely remembered anything past a screeching echo in his head as the hand got closer and closer.

Wow, he should probably stop thinking about being cut open.

The memory gradually ended there. After awhile, the sensation crept to a standstill and Sans discovered himself back at home in his room. But that wasn’t true. He was still there with Grillby, still under the care of the healer. He still couldn’t see.

Not like it would do any good to see anything now. He thought that if he’d caught a glance at the implements that were going to be used on him, he would’ve freaked out. A knot built up within him, steady as much as it was stationary. He inhaled a shuddering breath.

“Be calm, sir,” Hanley said as they returned. Sans heard the soft clinks and knocks of metal and wood together. “He can rest for awhile longer. Would you like to go outside?”

Sans distantly knew that Grillby would refuse to give in to such a request, but he didn’t realise how angry it had made the fire monster to be suggested such a thing. He hiccoughed, trying to convey that, _hey, he’s ok._

It was a shame the connection didn’t go both ways, though. Sans lay, trapped between the bubble of calm radiating from Hanley and the repressed inferno of Grillby’s anger and self-disgust.

It would’ve paralysed him, had Sans not some inkling as to what was going on. Grillby’s flames still whispered to him, self-reprimanding and worried. They were worried - hell, Grillby was _terrified._ Carefully, Sans attempted to squeeze his hand. It barely twitched, but the fire monster latched onto the support for as much comfort as he could draw.

He was hurting, too.

“s’ok, g,” Sans breathed, and that was it. That was all he could do. He couldn’t infer anything past that, couldn’t hold Grillby close like he wanted to, to prove that he would actually be ok. Grillby’s emotions flooded him, despair and grief tied into one.

_It was too similar. Papyrus had reacted the same, all those years ago._

Hanley waited for Grillby to calm before they continued, though Grillby’s hand in Sans’ felt hot and heavy like a glowing coal. He tried to focus on the fire monster’s touch instead of the way the healer manoeuvred his skull into place, making his soul thrum dully in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was his own anxiousness over being handled or if it was Grillby’s, but Sans couldn’t help the bitten off whimper that escaped him.

“I’ll explain,” the healer said, their tone soft and sweet. Their touch was almost like a caress, so much that Sans barely felt the intrusion when something soft was inserted into his right eye socket. Nevertheless, he stiffened slightly, trying to search the space in front of him with his remaining eye light. “There is a keystone arch inside of your head that is a main magic support. It looks like it has broken apart. Have you suffered any head trauma or concussions recently?”

Sans thought about it as best as he was able to. Sheepishly, he recalled digging out the debris from his skull after his plunge into the Waterfall lake, but that had been so long ago. He thought of a few tumbles that he had, the times he had passed out. Suddenly, whatever shame Sans had reeled up and slammed into him.

Grillby, fortunately, saved him the embarrassment. _“He had fainted a couple of times. Once was without another nearby, so it is unclear if there had been any damage. It hadn’t arose any discomfort…”_ He trailed off, as though he thought that he was giving away too much information, but Sans was glad that he had. _“It was awhile ago. He did not hit his head when he seized. I made sure of it.”_

Though the foreign feeling of something in his skull made small bristles travel up Sans’ arms, he was grateful that was all he could feel. Grillby had really looked out for him. He tried to squeeze his hand again, to convey just how much that meant to him. The injury had probably been from much earlier.

Whatever the healer was doing, it slowly collected the remaining liquid from within Sans’ skull. Their fingers kept him in place, coaxed to relax with their amiable aura. His magic only protested when the implement moved, gently nudging along the back of his skull to ensure that every drop was soaked up.

The judgement continued to slip Sans’ mind unless he actively thought about it. Seek the king. That they were injured. That they shared a body, autonomous and not. That the only piece left of them was a weapon.

Sans wondered if that had been intentional by those that had done this to him or not.

It started to get more difficult to think the longer the procedure went on. While Hanley worked, their voice hummed, ethereal and cool. By comparison, Sans felt like he had a fever, rippling up his skull and nestled within his marrow.

“Cooler,” they said, reminding someone. Sans shuddered a breath, holding onto consciousness by a bare thread. The leaden weight in his hand squeezed tight, reminding him where he was. “Are you still with us, Sans?”

Sans liked this healer. It was very apparent that they really wanted him to be comfortable. They never caught him off guard, though he supposed, vaguely, that it was because they explained everything as they began and waited for him to become familiar with it. As it stood, the liquid in his skull had been all soaked up by tiny sponges strapped to rods, which now rested in a small tray off to the side.

Belatedly, Sans tried to open his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He knew how delicate the procedure probably was, so he avoided any movement that might jar their hand. Instead, he tried to just answer in his head.

_Still kinda here._

“Alright. You’ve both been doing very well. I’ve gathered some of the substance to take a look at.” Sans appreciated the fact that Hanley avoided using any technical terms commonly used by doctors. Grillby had been upfront about how much medical procedures shook him. “I’ll need to sculpt a bridge to connect the bone that was broken. It’s a clean cut-” Sans had to blink away the image of a scalpel, but it was fleeting and didn’t linger. “-but with him relaxed like this, it shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours.”

Grillby squeezed Sans’ hand, warm and smooth. Sans appreciated the intent conveyed. He’d be alright. He was safe. Soon, they would be able to rest and go see his brother. They could have a good week off. Maybe Sans could cook something for Grillby like he had originally planned.

Or he could meet the king, as what was required of him.

Time seemed to drag on, slowly and without issue. The drug persisted, trapping Sans in a bubble of numbness, left to the mercy of those around him. Sans did relax a little when Hanley wiped around his right eye socket, the moist cloth warm and soft. They dried him too, and assured the two that they’d return with the proper supplies. Then, leaving with the tray of used implements, they left Grillby and Sans to wind down.

 _“Sleepy?”_ came Grillby’s soft voice, gravelly and sounding sore. Sans wanted to nod, lingering on the edge of consciousness. His vision remained a milky-golden haze, even worse than before. He had really messed up. _“The healer said that they’ll be back in about an hour or two. Allowing us rest before they resume.”_ Because Sans couldn’t respond, the fire monster continued. _“I cannot handle myself. I am sorry for whatever bleeds out.”_

A warm hand cupped the side of his face, flooding Sans’ skull with warmth. With it, soothing healing magic trickled into him, like it would somehow help beyond what Hanley provided.

And even though it didn’t do anything, Sans felt Grillby’s wish. Though he couldn’t move, he wanted to usher the fire monster to join him on the bed, to curl up at his side. Grillby only held his hand, resting his other hand on Sans’ throat, protective and weary. And the few hours that passed were a blur, mixed emotions and quiet _what-ifs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the OC I made for this fic - Hanley :)) be nice to them ♥ I made a vague kind of drawing of them which you can see [here](https://twitter.com/skerbbie/status/1286074143683698688?s=20) :3
> 
> Thank you all for your sweet comments on the last update!!!! I really appreciated them. ♥♥♥
> 
>  **Oct 29, 2020:** You probably noticed that this isn't updating very frequently anymore. I'm taking a break for things that I want to write immediately. It's still my love and my baby ♥ and I appreciate all the comments I get!! Thank you for your understanding.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanley has Grillby use his fires to mend Sans' break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning(s) for this chapter:** aftermath of eye trauma, drugged character, references to past surgery procedures, pseudo-surgery and body invasion, persistent blindness

After Grillby had awakened for the second time that day, it was well into evening, but the healer had not disturbed him. Instead, they had pulled up some fireproofed upholstery to protect their home and draped Grillby’s discarded sheet around him, insulating him so he could conserve energy.

Hanley was an interesting type of monster. Though their body continuously shifted, their hands remained the same concentrated bone with the same sort of segments that made up Sans’ hands.

The second thing that Grillby noticed was that Sans was now sleeping. It was the telltale deep slumber of someone who had just given up trying to stay awake, not long after Grillby had experienced his own.

Grillby rose from his hunched position beside the bed, his back protesting and his body snapping warily at the plants that hung from the ceiling. He really needed to burn something. He had reached his limit, overly tired and stressed even more than he initially was. His hands shook a little, trembling against Sans’ lithe fingers.

He’d be good. He’d get his chance to vent later, when Sans was well. For now, all he could do was watch over him, to ensure his safety and to assist the healer in any way that he could.

As it stood, Hanley brought over a cup of water and another small tray of what appeared to be clay. There was a small bowl of white powder, some healing salve in a golden tin, and a few items Grillby recognised to be food. Though he had burned through a lot of energy, Grillby’s flames could remain efficient so long as he didn’t get truly upset.

Nonetheless, they offered him a couple of items from the tray and from the simple apron around their waist; a few small chocolate cookies, bars, and a bag of hard shelled nuts from a deep pocket in their pants. Grillby took them with a quiet nod of thanks, knowing what they were. To keep his hands busy, so they could work.

Shame didn’t even begin to touch upon how he felt. He felt beyond useless, even though Grillby knew that Sans wouldn’t have made it to the ferry without his help. Still, detaching his hand from where he had secured it in Sans’ own took some inner coaching. Grillby was afraid for what would happen if Sans noticed.

“I do not know for how long you’ve been without, but I figure you’d need something to occupy yourself with,” Hanley said kindly as they started to prepare a solution with the water and the white powder. “It’s likely that he’ll stay like this for up to six, perhaps eight hours. His energy levels are peculiarly high, but something else is wearing him down. Makes it difficult to diagnose.”

Grillby nodded, using a bit of his fire to char the tips off the hard shell on an almond. When the shell ground down to ash in his hands, his magic latched onto the fruit greedily, as though he had misjudged how hungry he really was.

“The corruption in his right arm is substantial and it’ll take time for me to sculpt together the bones required for the support. I’ll have the means to heal the connective magic afterwards, when the cast is curing.”

Grillby wanted to know how this person knew about skeleton monsters when Sans himself didn’t seem to know, but he held his tongue. He would ask later rather than now and not risk Hanley suddenly deciding that healing Sans wasn’t worth the aggravation of Grillby’s enquiries.

It was an irrational thought, but Grillby didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

“If you are concerned, you need not be. The dose he was given at the clinic is enough to knock him out for quite some time,” they added as they tipped half the contents of the clay into the bowl, then began to mix it in using a flat spoon. “Tell me your questions.”

Grillby remained quiet as he seared away another almond. His hands had started to shake. _“No questions. It is… only sudden.”_

Hanley glanced at him, the voids of their eye sockets hollow without any telltale glowing lights. The corner of their teeth quirked in a grin, reminiscent of Sans’ roguish smile. It tugged at Grillby’s soul in a mournful way.

Of course Grillby had questions, but they were the sort that he should never ask another monster that didn’t already know about Sans’ condition. There were a few that were pressing. Would Sans see again? Would his HP bar return? Would he be strong again?

 _Again,_ because he’d never been this weak before.

Grillby grew silent, only the ambient pop and hum of his blaze audible.

“Whatever it is that is bothering you, you shouldn’t fret,” Hanley said, as though the whole pause hadn’t transpired at all. The paste they worked with started to crumble into an odd cement texture before they tested it between their fingers, then added a few more drops of water. “It will take time, but his magic should repair the damage of the break on its own. This is merely to assure that the union adheres to the right bone. He’s already limited by one side, so this is to aid in recovering. I will need your help with the kilning process, though.”

Kilning. Grillby looked down at his hands. His flames were so low that he could see the hairline cracks and spurred formations hardened atop of his normally vague outlines.

“That’s what the food is for, Grillby,” Hanley added, and for a moment the fire monster thought that they were channeling one of his mothers. Grillby cracked a wry sort of laugh, not bothering to char the rest of his almonds and just threw them into his mouth. “You’ll need a little more strength than that. It just so happens that I can’t make a separate piece in my kiln and operate it into his skull. It won’t fit. So, I’ll need to build up the pieces, having you use your heat after each application until the bone is secure.”

Grillby remained silent, but nodded in agreement. After a moment of watching them form a thick paste with the powder, clay and water, he unwrapped one of the bars, his heat making the wrapper seethe and smoke. His flames had consumed it before he had even brought it up to his mouth. It made no difference in the end.

He took the time to look at his phone as they worked. It had been awhile since he’d even thought to check it. There was no doubt that Papyrus had to be worried by the delay. Grillby read the messages over and over, attempting to reply and failing. The words didn’t feel right. He hadn’t even seen the following messages after he saw the first.

Papyrus had requested that he be notified when they had made it to Haven Housing, and Grillby had failed to do so.

Well, now he could.

Grillby (Last message sent: 7:58pm);

\- I apologise for my late reply. We arrived at Haven Housing earlier, but we were seen right away. Sans is better. Sleeping. The healer Hanley is helping him with his injuries.  
\- I realise that I was not forthright in notifying you to the extent of what has transpired. To be honest, I am afraid of what has happened. After you left, he was fine and came through. I had left him for only a moment and he seized. He started to bleed. It’s stopped now, but I’m not sure what it was. It wa  
\- sn’t his innate magic. His HP bar has disappeared, though the healer does not appear as concerned about it as I am.  
\- Sans is also sensitive to Intent, which is proving to be useful as far as the healer’s aid is concerned.  
\- Though… he is also blind. Hanley believes that they can fix whatever has been injured. They think he took a blow to the head. It may have either been from when his rebound happened, or earlier.  
\- In addition to everything else, Sans’ right side appears to have corroded the connections to his limbs. The healer is going to look into their integrity after seeing to his skull.  
\- But on the whole, it seems a lot more dire than it truly is. I apologise for how long it took for me to return your messages, Papyrus. I hope you are getting the information you need from the archives.  
\- Please take care.

When Grillby finished replenishing a bit more of his energy, he sat back and watched while Hanley took over. It was easy to watch them, though when they moved Sans’ face to reach inside one of his empty eye sockets, Grillby couldn’t help but inwardly cringe. It was a good thing that Sans was unconscious -- otherwise he would’ve woken up from that, followed by the blind searching within.

Hanley brought up a little bit of the sculpting mixture with a couple fingers, carrying it into Sans’ eye sockets to mould it out of sight. They maintained a certain distance so that they could keep their light form.

They urged Grillby to eat a little more, then touch Sans’ face. Though Hanley didn’t remove their hands from Sans’ skull, they told Grillby to cup Sans’ face, pressing heat deep into the bone. Grillby could detect the moisture within, how it steamed and dried out, hardening the plaster. He was made to do so slowly, a thick heat that melded clay to bone, forcing it to cement together.

Though Grillby was re-energised by the offered food, he was still weary. Hanley kept their instructions simple, never venturing into dreaded medical terms. It felt more like the welding of pottery, kilning it so it cured, creating a layer that fused Sans’ keystone bone in place. Hanley even went as far as to show him.

“See here,” they said, pointing into Sans’ right eye socket.

Grillby drew a little closer, noticing that the ticks and tallies he had seen before were smoothed over by hard clay, protecting the exposed marrow. There was a smear of gold here and there, instances where Hanley couldn’t have it fully removed. Instead of the magic pith exposed by the broken bone, there was a small shield like the spread wings of a butterfly, delicate-looking yet strong. Subtly, Grillby could see the small flush of cyan magic working deep behind it.

“Now that it’s covered, he’s starting to heal.”

Grillby breathed out a gusty sigh of relief. His shoulders ached from staying hunched over Sans’ side, his hands poised to rest over Sans’ face. The ridges of his eyes, the dip in his maxilla and the slat of his temples were covered in sooty smears. At least it looked better than the globs of gold, Grillby reasoned.

Hanley gave him another one of those familiar quirked grins. “He may complain of the weight in his head, but his sight should return once he’s fully recovered. Eventually, the casting will naturally erode away and be absorbed into his magic. In the meantime, I advise you to warn him against any prolonged soaks if he’s prone to them.”

Grillby’s flames flicked like an irritated cat’s tail at the mere mention of water, but he kept quiet, grateful for the information. He reached over and ran the pad of his thumb over Sans’ forehead, carefully feeding a trickle of warm comfort into the gesture. Sans didn’t stir in his sleep, but his next breath was a little deeper. Grillby couldn’t help but respond to the reaction with soft fondness.

“As far as his HP bar is concerned, I cannot locate the cause as to why it’s absent. The best I am able to do is to heal the connective magic for his prosthetics and hope that the issue resolves itself in time. There is only so much I can do solo,” Hanley said, a little ruefully. “You may rest, though don’t stay on the floor. I have a rocking chair that you can sit in. Just bring it over. I’ll start here when you’ve come over. You can use your phone while I work, don’t worry.”

They were very reassuring. Most of Grillby’s doubts and fears melted away into background noise, curled up at the back of his head. It was as though Hanley’s care for him and Sans was enough to make Grillby cede that they really were looking out for them. That he could hand over the reins and trust them. They had helped to heal Sans. They were someone that Papyrus trusted. That alone meant everything in the world to Grillby.

So he dragged over a nearby chair, too tired to lift it. He grabbed the fireproof sheets from the floor and wrapped them around his body, sank back onto the chair, and tilted it as he watched. He could’ve just fallen asleep right then if he had wanted to, but Grillby felt the protective urge to stand vigil over them, watching as Hanley’s form shifted into a bonier mass, then back to peachy flames when they leaned further into his direction. It proved to be captivating.

They laid out rows of utensils, things that Grillby had seen before. There were clasps and wide hooks, some linen thread and magically treated powders. Hanley coated everything with the powder to purify them, then carefully wedged a small cushion under Sans’ right shoulder so that it was at a good angle to work at.

For a moment, Grillby’s eyes grew heavy, but he managed to keep them open when Hanley began their work. Small wisps of light came off their fingertips, bright and thick lime green, inspecting the wound Grillby had only touched upon at Sans’ right shoulder. The socket looked no different than ordinarily, though Hanley’s expression was thoughtful and focused when they began to lift one of the wide-hooked implements.

It wasn’t anything torturous or cruel, just something to keep healing fingers away from spots that didn’t need it. Gloves rarely worked, but purified tools aided the way for healers to manoeuvre their patients without discharging unnecessary healing energy. It was a preventative measure to ensure they got the most healing where it was required.

The clasp pulled up the area close to Sans’ clavicle, and though Sans wasn’t awake to feel it, Grillby could almost feel a sympathy pain jab into his same side. They weren’t connected, but it had to have hurt. Sans’ expression didn’t betray anything that he was affected, though.

“It’s healed in some places… burned in others,” Hanley murmured as though to themself. The tool slipped in their grasp, a painful sounding scratch of metal on bone. It didn’t appear to hurt Sans, but the sound grated up Grillby’s back. “What happened, I wonder.”

It was a question that Grillby only had a partial answer for, though it wasn’t his place to say. He slunk down, reaching out to touch Sans’ left shoulder to comfort him in his sleep. It soothed him more than anything, his cell phone in his other hand, clutching the sheet close to himself.

Awkwardly, he typed out a few messages to Papyrus, who hadn’t replied back yet.

Grillby (Last message sent: 10:23pm);

\- Sans’ keystone piece was successfully cast. It should protect the innermost areas of the magic in his head, though the healer mentions for him not to soak, until he is fully healed.  
\- Presently, Hanley is working on the corruption within Sans’ arm.  
\- There’s been no more gold liquid.  
\- I apologise if my messages are blunt or worrisome or if I have forgotten to report anything… It has been a rather long day.  
\- That is likely an unacceptable reason to be forthright, however…  
\- I hope that you are doing well, Papyrus.

Minutes dragged on into hours, hours into vague slurries of sleep caught between Hanley’s gentle murmurs. Though Sans didn’t move during the session, his brow ticked once or twice, barely noticeable unless someone looked for it. Carefully, Grillby would stroke over the skeleton’s head, soothing him with every ounce he had left.

_You’ll be alright. You are safe. With me. With those you trust. Won’t be in pain._

_Love you._

Love you, like the sentiment would burrow deep into Sans’ body, finding his soul to coax him to believe it. Sans did eventually ease just as Grillby started to drift away again, the rhythmic gestures and gentle soothing strokes against Sans’ shoulder genuine and warm.

Hanley’s healing was mostly invisible, caught at their fingertips only when they touched Sans’ body. They were healing a burn that was decades old, one that was fostered to adapt under pressure and coaxed to work through pain.

A burn was a brand that was left by negligence, something that was forever on Grillby’s mind, careful not to harm his friends and neighbours. If it was something that remained from when Sans had Fallen Down, then it was a very old injury indeed.

That meant…

Well, that meant that despite it all, Sans had a tolerance for pain and fire beyond imagining. Ruefully, Grillby curled in on himself, drawing the sheet closer.

His phone chimed. Weary, he looked down to it, barely making out the words between his lenses.

Papyrus (Last message received: 1:02am);

\- OH, MISTER GRILLBY, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING THROUGH. YOU ARE EXTREMELY GOOD AT BEING A FRIEND!!!  
\- IS HE DOING OK?? MY BROTHER, I MEAN. AND YOU? YOU MUST BE SO TIRED.

\- We are both taking it easy for now. He’s still having his shoulder inspected.  
\- Hanley has been very good to us.

\- HAS SANS WOKEN UP YET? I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS FOR HIM.

\- He is not awake at the moment, I am sorry. The sedation and supplicants he was given at the clinic put him out. He should be asleep for quite a few hours yet. Shall I message you when he is awake?

\- YOU CAN TELL HIM THAT I’M VERY PROUD OF HIM!! AND THAT I WON’T NECESSARILY HOUND HIM FOR HIS NAPPING HABITS, BUT HE SHOULD REST.  
\- MISTER ARGUS HAS BEEN HELPFUL, BUT THERE AREN’T MANY RECORDS ABOUT JUDGES NOR HOW THEY FUNCTION AFTER ALL.

\- Judges?

\- PERHAPS I MIGHT HAVE ‘JUMPED’ THE ‘GUN’ ON THIS, I’M AFRAID. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE FOR MY BROTHER. I’M SO VERY SORRY.

\- No one could have predicted this, Papyrus. You are far too harsh on yourself.

\- I WILL MAKE IT UP TO BOTH OF YOU REGARDLESS!!!  
\- AND THAT IS WITH A FRIENDLY COMPENSATORY DINNER AND ALSO POSSIBLY A FILL-IN AT YOUR EATERY!!  
\- BECAUSE NO DOUBT AFTER ALL THIS GALLIVANTING ABOUT, IT’S BOUND TO BE SOOTY ALL OVER AGAIN.

Grillby couldn’t help but exhale softly, amused and touched by the offer. Really, he didn’t need any compensation for something he would’ve done anyway, but to deny Papyrus would be a waste of breath.

Papyrus (Last message sent: 1:17am);

\- Very well, then.  
\- Do fill me in on what you have discovered in our absence when you have the time.

\- I THINK IT WOULD BE BEST IF I TELL YOU IN PERSON.  
\- AND ALSO WITH MY BROTHER.  
\- BECAUSE IT VERY MUCH INVOLVES HIM.

\- I understand. Thank you, Papyrus.

Grillby did eventually sleep, though it couldn’t have been for very long. Catching handfuls of rest between Hanley’s movements and murmurs, while also being afraid to wake up and find Sans gone made Grillby start at every sound. Much to his distress, the noise that made him twitch awake was a soft grunt from Sans.

Immediately, he drew his hand down to gently brush his fingers against Sans’ cheekbone. The bone between his eyes knitted briefly as though in pain, and Hanley murmured something calming. They also looked weary, the skull-type mask drooping like warm putty. The light that they emitted was wanful and small, so much that Grillby tried to compensate. A little irritable, they waved at him to stop.

“His aethers are wearing off. I’m nearly finished, but it’s better to see what I’m doing in the dark. I can see the connections far more easily that way,” they explained, though rubbed at one eye socket, smearing the clay-like mask into the light body behind it. Clumsily, it warbled back into place, the edges a little smudged.

From their spot on the floor next to the bed, they hunched over, easily with the bed so low to the floor. Around them were an array of wrappers, quick foods and baked goods to top up their magic supply. Despite their supposed element, Hanley appeared to be perspiring.

“Though it’s not a problem, how much HP did you say he had initially? I keep finding myself bumping into a wall.”

The wall might’ve been the same denseness that Grillby had tried to push against when he healed Sans at the MTT Resort in Hotland, several months earlier. He remembered the crushing weight of guilt and horror when he realised that Sans probably wouldn’t have made it.

But then, Papyrus had cleared it up for him, hadn’t he?

 _“A special case,”_ Grillby murmured gently, keeping his answer cryptic. _“Lower than one would think for what he’s dealt with, but higher for the same reason.”_

Hanley’s grin quirked, weary and small. They laughed in a warm and friendly way. “You sound like the old captain.”

Grillby just smiled warmly, content to believe that they had meant the river person. He was finding it difficult to stay awake.

“Sleep,” Hanley urged, though they didn’t look up from their work when they spoke. They began to unscrew the top of the golden tin, flicking up some of the paste onto their fingertips. “You’ve done well, and should you push yourself further, then I’m afraid you’ll need a bed too. Just relax. Your friend is in good hands.”

 _Good hands,_ Grillby thought, unable to shrug off sleep for any longer. Eyeing the healer’s fingers, he mentally corrected himself as Hanley started to rub the salve into Sans’ shoulder; _bone hands._

Sans was awake before Grillby. He had snuck his hand up to rest his fingers around Grillby’s wrist, as though the familiar scent and warmth was calming to him in a strange place. It also helped to anchor him, Grillby thought, as when he began to stir, Sans’ grip turned firmer. Not by much. Just a small amount, enough to convey that he was awake too.

Grillby leaned closer in the chair, taking stock of the room. Between them, they had probably slept for a good six hours. He still felt as though he could do with several more, but he was ecstatic to find Sans awake, half grinning in that way of his that lied about how right he felt.

 _“How’s your arm?”_ Grillby groggily croaked as he rubbed at his face with his free hand.

Sans’ eye lights appeared to be missing, though his eye sockets were half-open, like he was trying to squint to see. “heavy,” he rasped softly. “dizzy. everything’s heavy,” he complained in a bare whisper. “half my face feels numb.”

Grillby nodded, then corrected himself. _“Minor break. Easy fix.”_ He reconsidered the term ‘surgery’ and thought about it for a moment. _“The healer made a cast for what had broken. It will take time to heal, they said.”_

“arm kinda feels the same,” Sans protested. He moved as though to test his right arm and grimaced with a tired huff. “like it’s kinked out.”

It took a couple of tries for Grillby to lean forward to inspect it. Sans’ arm had been reattached sometime while he was asleep along with his leg, but there was an odd matted sheen to Sans’ shoulder around where Hanley had been working.

 _“Salve,”_ the fire monster offered carefully. _“They had healed a lot. Is it still sore?”_

Sans seemed to consider it for a moment. It was a long pause, punctuated by a stuttered gasp. He relaxed his expression and closed his eyes as though it would help. “nah. just throbs a lot.”

Grillby smiled tenderly, taking care to nudge the emotions at Sans directly. Sans seemed to relax by bare degrees.

“ok,” Sans relented quietly. “so maybe it just… kind of aches. it’s not as bad as before.”

The fire monster sighed, a smile quirking at his mouth. He leaned forward as much as he was able to, bare inches from Sans’ head. Sans opened his eyes again as if he expected to see him. Grillby recognised the muted disappointment hidden in Sans’ stiff grin like he couldn’t keep it at bay.

_“Rest.”_

Sans’ hand tightened around Grillby’s wrist like he thought Grillby might be leaving him.

 _“Easy,”_ Grillby murmured gently. _“I’m here. I’ve always been here.”_

That seemed to be comforting, at least. Sans nodded, though grimaced slightly with the aborted attempt. His laugh was a little raspy, bitter and notched with self-consciousness like an arrow to a bow.

“yeah, you always have been,” he mumbled, his voice bare. His eye sockets narrowed slightly as though to focus again, then he sighed out and closed them with an air of resignation. “thanks, buddy.”

_“Always.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me while I figure things out! ♥ Drop me a message if you liked the update!! :D
> 
> As an FYI, this fic's main page is gone now and and I've reuploaded it as this series so it's not so giant hahaha. ♡


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